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Gentleman s Magazine 

Volume CCXCVII. 

Prodssss b» Dblectare 

E Pluribus Unum 

EdiUd by SYLVANUS URBAN, Gentleman 

• • 

• • • • • 

■ • • • « • ■ 


• : :*• •'• ."• :•. 

•It • • m\ ' 



• • 

: !'• !*• 










All thai Remains of Forum Julii (Frfjus). By F. G. DUNLOP- 

Wallace-Goodbooy 170, 

Ancient Mercantile Houses of London. By J. H. Macmichael. 
Anioine de Guiscard ; Priest, Soldier, and Assassin. By Ben- 


Baptists Mantuan, Catholic Puritan. By FOSTER WaTSON, M.A. 

„ „ In the Schoolroom 31 

Biarriu. By Lieut.-CoL W. Hill James 58 

Bookbinder, To my. By G. S. Layard 511 

k London 

^^^p Mai 

Cana], The Duke of Bridgewater and his. By J. E. McInnes 
Census, The, of India By E, O. WALKER, CLE. 
Charles Lamb Once More. By Herbert W. Tompkiks 

Charlotte, Princess. By Henley I. Arden jji 

Cliffords, The, in Shakespeare and Wordsworth. By MAURICE G. 

Hering i^ 

Cruise, A, on the Inland Sea. By Emily A. Richinus . -"^"s^ 

Curve, The Gospel of the. By JOSIAH Oldfield, M.D. 

Daudet, Alphonse, The Early Struggles ot By C. J. Hamilton . 597 

Dead Hand, The. By Hester White 521* 

Drummond of Hawthomden. By H. M. Sanders . . jto 

Duke of Bridgewater, The, and his Cana). By J. E. MclNNES . 341 

Early Struggles, The, of Alphonse Daudet. By C. J. Hamilton . 597 

Ebeneier Jones. By Ramsay Colles, M.A. 14} 

Eight Captains of their Fate. By jAMES CaSSIDV .... 91 
Eighteenth Century Lady, An, and her Impressions. By Rev. E. 

Rhvs Jones 195 

Eros on the Waters. By Maud Hodgson 53s 

Exile, The, By R. M. LucEv 303 

Fanny the Rebel. By Katharine Sylvester .... ao^ 

Farm Book, A Seventeenth-Century. By W. H. Thompson. 266 
Forum Julii <Frijus), All that remains of. By F. G. DUNLOP- 

Wali-^ce-Goodbodv 170, 284 

Gospel, The, of the Curve. By Josiah Oldfield, M.D. . . 66 
Guiscard, Antoine de : Priest, Soldier, and Assassin. By Ben- 

venuta Solomon 13 

Imperial Tokyo. By E.MILY A. RiCHINGS 33a 

India, The Census of. By E. O. WaLKER, CLE JSJ 

Inland Sea, A Cruise on (he. By Emily A. RiCHiKOS . . 39} 

Japan, Mountain Shrines of. By Emilv A. Richings , . . itj 

Jones, Ebenezer. By Ramsay Colles, M.A. ■ '43 

Kentish Valley, A. By J. RUSSRLL Larkbv 499 

King James the Second at La Trappe. By Philip Sidney . 156 

Kirk o' Field, Mary Stuart and the Murder at. By Amy Tasker . 44S 

Lamb, Charles, Once More. By Herbert W. Tompkins . . 272 

Live Sea-Lights. By W. Allincham, F.R.C.S m 

London, .\ncieni Mercantile Houses of By J. H. MACMICHAEL . 12^ 
London Highwayman, The, in the Light (rf his own Newspaper. 

ByJ. Hoi.DEN Macmichael 469 

I.ondon Idyl, A. By FeLIX Noel .105 

" don. The Ancient Mercantile Houses of. By J. Kolden 

Macmichael vip» 

Love, the Conqueror. By Mary S. Hancock .... 417 
Mary Stuart and the Murder at Kirk o' Field. By Amy Taskbr . 448 
Memoirs of the Sedan Chair. By J. HOLDEN MacuichaBL . 401 

Mercury— the Sparkler. By E. Vincent Hkward, F,R.A.S. . 344 

Mother Moscow. By Emily A. Richings 609 

Mountain Shrines of Japan. By Emily A. Richings • "S 

Munby, Mr. Arthur, The Poetry of. By THOMAS Bayne . 503 

Murder, The Psychology o^ in Modern Fiction. By W. C. 

Sullivan, M.D 487 

My Pretty Moira. By ALISON Rae 313 

New Cathedral, The, at Westminster. By F 73 

Norway, Through, by Yacht and Stolkjaerres. By JOSEPH Shaylor 38; 
Ophelia : A New Theory of her Character. By Constance A. 

Barnicoat 428 

Paradise, The, of the Phxacians. By WillIAU Millbr, M.A. 
Poetry, The, of Mr. Arthur Munby. By THOMAS Bavne 
Princess Charlotte. By HEHLEY I. ARDEN .... 
Psychology, The, of Murder in Modem Fiction. By W. < 


Reptile Lore. By BARBARA Clay Finch 376 

Seagulls. By E. W. Tompkins 593 

Sea- Lights, Live. By W. AllIHCHAM, F.R.C.S. . 
Sedan Chair, Memoirs of the. By J. HOLDEN Macmichabl 
Seventeenth-Century Farm Book, A. By W. H. THOMPSON . 
Shadowy Way, The. By Sydney Hesselriggb . 

Sketches of Brittany. By J. Quigley 

Spur, The, of the Moment By I. Giberhe Sievekino 
Squire, The, of Walton Hall. By £. WELLINGTON KiDD, B.A. 
Successful Hybridisation, The, of the Wood-pigeon. By Sr. 


Table Talk. By Sylvanus Urban :~ 

Public Interest in the Stage— The Manager and the "Gods"— 

Public Censure of the Drama— Gallery Criticism . 103 

" Heme the Hunter " — No Legend of Heine the Hunter exist- 

ing — Heme the Hunter 207 

Mr. Swinbumc^s Collected Poems — Puritan Outbursts in 

England — Burns, Byron, Shelley, Keals, Wordsworth — 

Morris, Rossetti, and Later Poets — Mr. Swinbur ' 


July 1904. 


Chapter I. 

" T OOK here, Winstanley," said a man who Stood close beside 

I J him, lowering his voice, and slipping a hand under his arm 
" Don't go on lalking to Randolph like that, old chap ; he's getting 
riled, and you know he's got a lot of Southern blood in his veins, and 
though he's an awfully good sort usually, yet when he's really roused 
he has a deuce of a temper. I've seen him when ' the fashion of his 
countenance changed ' so much that one simply couldn't have re- 
cognised him ; he was practically transformed— though not into an 
' angel of light.' Don't you work him up now, there's a good fellow," 
he ended, as the man to whom he was talking shook off the restrain- 
ing hand on his arm. 

" He's a foot \ " retorted he, h'ghtjy turning on his heel, "and I 
should rather /iie to see him in a temper," he ended, so//o voce, 

" You wouldn't," replied Anthony to himself, significantly. 

It was towards the end of a supper party in Kenyon Randolph's 
rooms that a discussion had arisen as to the merits of some public 
singer; Winstanley had cried her down, and Randolph, to whom her 
voice had always specially appealed, withstood him holly. 

Then, at the end of the argument, his special chum Anthony, 
noting by various signs (by which he was accustomed to measure 
the rising of the tide in his friend) that Randolph's temper was 
getting tired — he was not good at argument, and he was aware of the 

vou ccxcvii. «o. 10S3. B 

a *■•'*■' iT'Ar Ceki&maH's Magasine.- 

fact — endeavoured, but in vain, to divert the course of the ( 

Winstanlejr, the moment that Anthony stopped speaking, began 
gibing at Randolph again in bis peculiarly iiriudng manner. 

He was a man who had a special knack Tor "nibbing people up 
the wrong way." ir one patticukr subject should be avoided wi^ 
anyCHie, Winstanley b^an upon it promptly ; if anyone had a mental 
corn, Winstanley trod upon it cnishingly; if anyone had airiTed 
at the end of their tether, Winstanley would jerk the bit till it cut 

And the worst of it all lay in the (act that he eould be a delightful 
talker — always cynical, it is true, bis wit edged with toothed sarcasm 
— and so was a popular adjunct to any party until an opportunity 
drifted to his feet of scoring a point, when he never spared friend or 
foe, and woAed the keen blade of his humour until his victim writhed 
under it 

He was a short, fair man, with hair growing sparsely away from 
his forehead, thin lips often environed with a sneer, and cold, light 
Uue eyes. 

He had nothing in common with Randolph ; indeed, he always 
seemed to take a special pleasure in annoying the latter whenever 

In outward presentment there could not have been more dis- 
nmilar types, Winstanley being slight and not attTactive-looking, 
his whole charm depending on his brains ; and Randolph bigly 
made, square shouldered, exceedingly powerful in build, with a square 
fac^ dark complexioned, with dark blue eyes set deep under over- 
hanging eyebrows. The whole face spoke of sudden impulse, whether 

I came j 

I stnick 

The Spur of the Monunt, 

came persuadingly from his lips, and his liltle audience, suddenly 
stnick into voicelessness, listened in appreciative silence. 

Winstanley finished the song, pushed back his chair, and rose. 

" Well, Randolph, I must be going. Got to be up early 

" Who is it sings that song 7 " said Randolph absently ; " I cant 
remember, but there's a sort of memory lurking in my mind for 
the tune." 

" Memory for the tunc?" broke in Winstanley contemptuously 
" of course there is, and I know where you heard it. It was at the 
Maidments' ; Margot Remington sang it. She made eyes at me the 
whole time, too," he laughed, as he picked up his hat, got into his 
overcoat, and found his stick. 

" What did you say ? " said Randolph, coming nearer to him, hli 
face white with anger. 

(" Storm's going to break overhead now, at any rate," put in a 
man who was standing beside him, to Anthony.) 

" Say ? my dear chap," answered Winstanley, with an easy laugh, 
*' only that she made eyes at me ; but then everybody knows that 
she's the most arrant little fiirt in town, and after that aRair with 
Darlington, out of which she didn't come very " 

Without a moment's pause Randolph sprang forward and struck 
him full in the mouth. 

WinsUnley, taken completely by surprise, forgetting how close he 
was to the staircase, stepped hastily back, lost foothold, and fell 
heavily backwards. He made one wild clutch at the banisters, but 
failed to grasp them, and struck against the steps in his headlong 
descent, at regular intervals, as he went down the long, steep flight of 

Without being able to give him any help, the men on the landing 
above watched his fall, spellbound and horror-stricken— heard the 
dull thuds that his body made against the stairs, saw him near the 
foot of the stairs turn completely over, limply, and lie doubled up, & 
hunchedup figure, at the bottom. 

None of those men who stood there watching helplessly their 
comrade's terrible fall would ever forget that scene. 

It was branded indelibly on their minds: the flaring gas jet, 
high above them, casting uncertain, flickering lights and shadows 
along the passage; the shabby wallpaper— here rubbed a little, 
there a piece torn right olf; the distant sounds breaking in on their 
ears from the noisy street outside ; the tinkle of the passing hansom ; 
the shrill railway whistle ; the hoarse cry of a hurr^in^ v^'9*^ ''^^ 

4 The GentUman's Magaeiiu. 

eiger to sell his " spe-shawl " waies ; the wail of a little child — and, 
inside the house, the gtim picture before thdr eyes, the black inert 
mass a few yards away, down those stairs. 

Randolph was the first to recover his presence of mind, and he 
hurried down, followed by the others, to see what was the full extent 
of the disaster they had just witnessed. It was Rai^dolph who 
lifted Winstanley's head, and be saw something in the foce which 
strock a terrible ghastly fear into his heart. 

There was no sign of life or consciousness there ; the mouth hung 
limply open, the eyes were staring vacantly. 

As he laid down the head be looked up for one moment at his 
friends above him : 

" He's dead, and I've killed him 1 " butst from his lips in a hoarse 
agonised whisper, his &ce drawn and haggard as that of en old man. 

" No, no, Kenyon," began Anthony, hurriedly taking hold of his 
friend and putting him gently aside ; " be can't be dead, but even if 
be wer^ if s not your doing. Don't suffer that untrue thought for a 

Anthony knelt down beside htm, and, taking the limp hand, felt 
fitr the pulse. Alter a few moments he became convinced that Ran- 
.dolph had indeed spoken the truth, and that Winstanley was dead. 

Face to face with the very worst that could have happened, 
Anthony hastily summoned all the energies of his mind to grapple. 
Sot his friend's sake, with this sudden, terrible emergency. What 
must be done ? 

Something, very evidently, and that at once. He got up and 
iooked round. 

Randolph was sitting on one of the stairs, his head on his bands^ 
rocking himself backwards and forwards. 

The Spur of the Moment. 

He was a middle-aged, reserved-looking man, with a sh 
manner. He looked curiously and rather distrustfully at the group ' 
gathered round the foot of the stairs, but said nothing. 

In due course all the grim formalities that had to be gone 
through were arranged ; the body at the fool of the stairs was moved, 
and after a statement of what had occurred had been given in to the 
authorities in charge, and the names of those who had witnessed it 
had been taken, the men were allowed to disperse. 

Anthony promptly went up to Randolph, before whom every- 
thing that had happened since thai fatal push had passed as in a sort of ' 
vaking nightmare, and taking his arm, said, " Come along, Kenyon, 
I'm going to sleep in your room to-night. Good night all," he 
added, turning to the others, who had begun already to move away. 

" I can't go up those stairs again," said Randolph, suddenly draw- 
ing back. 

"Nonsense, we must,"said Anthony firmly ; " and you must rouse \ 
yourself, Kenyon, for my sake, for all our sakes who love you," ht ' 
went on earnestly, holding his friend's arm closely. 

At the top, however, Randolph shook himself free and turned to 
look back. " My Heaven ! " he exclaimed, " can it really be only- 
one hour since all that awful catastrophe happened. It wasn't wrong 
to stand up for her honour, it wasn't wrong to thrust that man's lie 
down his throat, it wasn't wrong to refuse to hear any calumnies ; — 
no, but the sequel was all a grim stroke of fate, which stepped in 
suddenly, and timed the blow, and the step backward, and the 
chance which fastened on him at the foot of the stairs, and which 
left the message of ' Manslaughter ' for me to fetch and appropriate 
to myself^for always ! " he ended bitterly. 

" It was the merest chance, Kenyon, and such a thing as that 
ean't be brought in as ' manslaughter.' " 

" Whether it's brought in as that or not doesn't, after all, greatly 
matter," answered Randolph, miserably; "to all intents and purposes, 
one way or another, to the world, to my own mind, to my own con- 
science, I am a doomed man ! Through any life I may have to go 
there's one look— a look of the despair of a human soul— which will 
haunt and haunt me till all consciousness shall cease for me ; and 
that's the look which was in \VinsUnIey's eyes as they met mine just 
before he fell backwards to his fate I " 

i I 




Th* GentUman's Magazine. 

Chapter II. 

Oh a certun little island on the river, not far from Hurley, three 
□len were busily engaged in washing up dishes, knives, forks and 
plates, after the last meal in the day. 

It was a perfect summer evening, and there is nowhere in the 
world where one can a[^>reciate that gift more keenly than where one 
is camping out hj the river. 

A little desultory conversation was kept up between two of them 
while the work progressed. 

The tnan ntting on the edge of the bank, dish washing, did not 
talk even desultorily, for he had found out that the roar dt the weir, 
a stone's throw away from him, was apt to drown his remarks when 
he made them ; consequently it had become a trifle wearisome repeat- 
ing them over again so often, so he whistled iiistead — and there is 
great companionship in whistling, as everytme knows who has tried 
it during a lonely hour. 

At last the knives needed no more plungings up to the hilt into 
the earth, the dishes no more splashtngs, the plates no more rinsings^ 
and the man who had taken them off into the tent came back to his 
companions and said, " I'm off for a scull up stream ; iha'n't be away 
more than about an hour," turned on his heel, andid the painter, 
jumped into the boat, and shoved off 

His companion, who was still squatting on the bank, shirt-sleeves 
itumed up to bis elbow, watched him for some moments curiously. 

Then he turned to his friend, smoking at his side, and said, " I 
don't know why it is, but Randolph always gives me the impression 


The Spur of the Moment. 

be in the old Rugby days, don't you ? Always so tremendously oa 
the spot about things tliat sometimes he came on it so violently one 
might almost say that he went through. 

" Well, I was spending the evening with him in his rooms, with ft 
lot of other fellows, that winter I was speaking about, and Winstanley 
was there too. Do you remember Winstanley ? " 

" Yes," replied Giimore, concisely, " Never could like that chap. 
Used to think he was an awful bargee— especially where women were 
concerned; but he was a jolly clever talker, I remember, and sang 

"Yes; well, he and Randolph had been having a discussion, and 
I could see the latter was getting riled, though he tried to keep hold 
of himself, for he was an awfully passionate chap in everything. 

'■ Then Winstanley sat down to the piano and sang a son^ and 
afterwards declared he must be going ; so he got his hat, and was just 
bidding good-bye to the fellows, when Randolph began on the song : 
he couldn't remember where he'd heard it ^Vinstanlcy reminded 
him, and went on to make, in a particularly objectionable mannefr 
some innuendoes about Miss Remington. Well, Kenyon has been ia 
love with Margot Remington for years. He would be the very last 
man to suffer a word to be said to her discredit ; he just let out ftt 
Winstanley — struck him full on the mouth ; you remember how 
awfully shortsighted Kenyon has always been ? He could not see 
how near Winstanley had got to the top of the stairs which begtD 
outside his rooms. ^Vell, Winstanley missed his footing, fell the 
whole length of the staircase, turned over at the bottom, and lay all 
In a heap, motionless." 

" Good Heavens ! " ejaculated Giimore. 

" Well, when we reached him we found be was dead," ended 

" Dead ? " 

" Yes, dead. I shall neverfurget what Kenyon looked like when 
we found he was really dead. I thought he would have gone out of 
his mind that night. Of course the case had to be tried, and, 
when his case came on, I really believe he didn't care one way or 
the other which way it was decided, nor what happened to him. 

" And another U)ing was against him, besides. Winstanley had 
been the great friend of Margot's brother, and he alone of all the 
fellows refused to believe it was altogether accidental (he wasn't 
there that evening), and he made out such a case against Randolph 
with his father and mother, that every prejudice that could be 
started against him was started the whole atmosphere in MAt^dtf^^ 

8 The Gent/emoH's Magazine. 

home was dead against him, and I think, in spite of herself (for I'm 
morally sure she cared for him — they were always tc^ether at one 
time at all society functions) — in spite of herself, she was influenced 
against him. 

" Kenyon got to hear of this, and this last blow of Fate seemed to 
settle everything as far as his interest in life was concerned. The 
case was decided in his favour — " he was not guilty of manslaughter " ; 
it was given as " death through misadventure " ; but the verdict didn't 
seem to matter to old Kenyon one way or the olher. He took up 
life again, but I am quite certain that nothing in this world would 
please him better now than that the door between this life and the 
next should be thrown wide open before him, so that he could pass 

" Has he never tried to give Mai^ot Remington the true version 
of that story ?" asked Gilmore, lying at full length on the grass, his 
hands clasped behind his head. 

"Tried? My dear chap, have you forgotten in old days how 
Mrs, Remington used, right away on from the very banning of things, 
to get possession of Margot's intelligence, conscience and point of 
view in religion, in morals, and, as far as possible, as regards mental 
psychology 7 Well, what did that French cardinal say ? ' Give me 
the child for the first seven years, and hell be a Jesuit all his life ! ' 
Gilmore, that's a living truth. Mrs. Remington, whatever else she 
didn't understand, at least understood that 

" So now Margot feels that if she goes against her mother in any- 
thing she imperik her soul in some way. Yes, I know it isn't the 
least modem or understandable that to-day anybody could be 
found to possess so mediaeval a mind \ but it's literally the case with 


The Spur of the Moment. 


I bccoi 

( has c 

I thought you fellows would have gone to bed," said Randolpl^ 
shortly, as he lifted the flap of the tent, and, once inside, threw him« 
self down without undressing. 

Anthony kept Gilmore talking outside for an hour later, so that 
by the time they went to bed Randolph should have gone to sleep. 

In the middle of the night Gilmore woke with a start. Who wa 

It was the tune of " Wilt thou remember me ? " Randolph w« 
sitting up opposite him, staring into vacancy, with wide-opened^ 
unseeing eyes, a panic-stricken look convulsing his whole face. 

As Gilmore watched him he suddenly hissed out : 

" He's dead ! 1 tell you he's dead, and I've killed him I " 

After a few moments he sank back on the floor of the tent, and 
though Gilmore could still hear him drawing deep spasmodic breatlis, 
yet he said no more. 

The next morning, when Anthony and Gilmore were frying bacon 
over their impromptu fireplace by the carefully sheltered and coaxed 
fire, Randolph, who had gone out early, came back with swinging 
strides from a cottage near by, whither he had been for milk and 
butter. As he drew near them he suddenly broke into " Wilt thou 
remember me when I am gone ? " 

Anthony looked round sharply, drawing in his breath as he did 
so, at the sound of the ill-fated melody, which none of those whtt 
heard it that evening three years ago would ever dissociate in their 
minds from the terrible scene that followed. 

The anxious look on his face deepened as he caught sight of 

" He always sings snatches of that song whenever he has thess 
attacks of remorse, which have come on from time to time ever since 
Winstanley's death," he said sutto voee to Gilmore ; and then the 
latter told him of what he had seen the previous night, and of hoir 
the nightmare had ended. 

"Ureakfast ready?" asked Randolph, coming close up to the two, 
with an assumed cheerfulness. 

" Ves, come along," said Anthony, and in a very few minutes all 
three were engrossed in the consumption of a hearty meal. 

There are few environments more conducive to a keen appreci^ 
tion of food than are those of camping out by the river ; they maks 
a strong appeal even to a man at war with himself mentally, an 
appeal which it is bard to refuse. 

In the writer's opinion, for insunce, nowhere else does bacon 
become a more delectable delicacy than beside the river, mbfia 
has cooked it oneself ! 

lo The G*niUman's Magatitu. 

"What shall we do?" said Gilmore, breakfast, and the annU 
hilatioa of all reminden of its advent, which must inevitably follow 
it, having become things of the past. 

" Let's go for a low," promptlr suggested Randolph, who was 
markedly restless this morning. 

Randolph steraed, consequoidy the sculling which the two others 
put in was much more slack and easy than it would have been had 
he rowed " stroke " himself. 

At the second lock to which they came there was a fair crowd f£ 
boats besi^ing its entrance, and the three men were among the hut 
to get through. 

To Anthony's annoyance an occurrence that did now and again 
happen took place at this mommt Two men in flannels looked 
hard at Randolph, and one munnured to the other, "Tha^sthe cbap 
about whom there was that case a year or so ago." 
. " What case ? " asked the other. 

" Don't you remember ? Oh, when he pushed——" Here his 
voice dropped and Anthony heard no more. 

But he had heard enough, and he stole an anxious gbnce at his 
friend to see if he had heard also. But Randolph's face was 
inscrutable. He might have heard or not \ there was no telling. 

Then began the heavy jarring and clanking of the big gates in front 
of them, slowly working their way open, while the oddly assorted litde 
groups of people, gathered togedier thus, probably, only for once in 
their lives, were shut in tc^ether until the riang and falling of the 
waters around them had had its course. 

The story of the opening and shutting of a lock is the story of 
many a human life. Are there not occasions in most lifetimes when 

The Spur of the Moment. 

Some boat— for the moment no one could see whose it was — got 
broadside on, and was drawn into the rush and whirlpool of waters 
close around the opening lock gates. There was such a jamming of 
boats in front of them that Randolph, standing up in his boat, could 
not clearly see what was happening. 

Suddenly there was a scream. He bent forward, and between 
the heads all peering anxiously in the same direction he caught one 
glimpse of a face — and that was enough for him. For in the 
second of time that was allowed for recognition Randolph had seen, 
to his amaKcraent, that it was Margot's. 

Without a moment's pause he plunged into the water, and made I 
his way, now by the aid of one boat, now by another, to the scene I 
of action. 

It required but one glance to lell him that it was Margot's boat I 
that had been overturned, for there it was lying keel uppermost, \ 
and she and her young brother were in the water- 
Without much difficulty, Randolph succeeded in rescuing Mar- 
got ; but the task was a more lengthy process with regard to the 
brother, a lad of about sixteen, who could not swim, and was 
thoroughly frightened. He had by this time drifted close lo the 
gales, and Randolph, in the efTorl lo reach him, had been flung 
violently against the woodwork. At the first impact he had thought 
it was nothing ; but after a moment or two he became aware that 
consciousness was slipping away from him, then that there was the 
curious buzz of the singing of waters in his head, and then, later, he 
could not remember where he was ; later still he had lost sight of 
everything, and had besides lost his bearings on life. 

" My dear fellow," Anthony said emphatically to Gilmore, walk- 
ing through the quiet little village some hours afterwards, " I'm not 
sorry for him. How can one be ? If someone has been dealt so 
crushing a blow by Fate that all the springs and hinges in one's 
being were made hopelessly out of order, the only question in one's 
mind, which would keep coming up to be answered every now 
and again, would be, 'When may the wheels of my life stop? 
When may I be sent off duty ? ' " 

" Think of it ! You know what that man used to be ! Think of 
what he has become under the influence of this dogging spectre of 
the mind I He, who was so full of enthusiasm and impulse, had 
practically become a colourless individuality, for ever liable lo be 
pulled up short by the chain of his remorse. Why, he was at 
beck and call of it. It was just as if some invisible hand pulled 




12 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

stiin{^ 8t)d the song, that song, which means so much now to us all, 
heralded in the grim approach of that haunting scene in his memory. 
My Heaven ! How I have dreaded the recurrence of that tune. 
He always used to b^In to whistle it and hum it when his attacks 
of despuring remorse were about to come on. 

" Now that's all over, Gilmore — it's all over for him ! It's all peace 
of mind henceforward ! Think what that must mean to a tortured 
mind ! He couldn't have wished to be called out of the Ufe that 
had somehow gone so wofully wrong for him in any better way than 
by rendering another service to the woman he has loved all his life, 
and escaping the 'waves of this troublesome world' in the doing 

** His service three years ago, which was offered for her sake, laid 
a heavy cross on his shoulders, which he was never able to lay 
down — the cross of a torturing self-accusation for having unwittingly 
taken the life of a fellow-creature. Thii cross she has never recog- 
nised — never understood ; but this last service of himself and his 
life she toill recognise I Nay, she has not failed to understand 
thatt He has left behind for her his cleared, his redeemed 
memory — redeemed from the slur which the hand of Fate had cast 
upon its Eur&ce. 

" He has escaped into the clear air of a new life, and so Requies- 
e<U in fate I " 


OF all the scoundrels in our history who have obtained a 
lemporary notoriety by the assassination or attempted 
assassination of some royal or eminent personage, none possesses 
B personality more vivid, more interesting, and more thoroughly 
wicked than Antoine de Guiscard, whose attack on Robert Harley, 
Chancellor of the Exchequer (afterwards Earl of Oxford), at a 
»tting of the Privy Council on March 8, 17 1 J, created considerable 
excitement at the time. The career of this picturesque villain (who 
should have lived in medixral Italy rather than in seventeenth-century 
France) offers material which may prove not uninteresting to a gener- 
ation by whom his name and crimes have alike been forgotten. 

Antoine de Guiscard was bom on December 17, 1658, in the 
province of Quercy, in France. He was of ancient and noble 
family, his eldest brother being the Comte de Guiscard, " a 
very honourable and worthy person," according to Swift, and 
governor of Namur when that city surrendered to Marlborough 
in 1692. Boyer states thai Antoine was endowed with "quick 
natural parts " ; he was proficient in literature and philosophy, and 
had written "a tolerable Poem, in Heroick Verse, in Praise of the 
King of France." ' He was de.^lined for the Church, and a more 
unfortunate choice could not have been made. Provided with 
several rich benefices, including the abbacy of Bourlie and the 
Priory of Dreu-en-Souvienne, he proceeded to scandalise and 
horrify the district with his immoralities. His sacred profession 
only served as a cloak for his crimes ; and its restrictions, little as 
he observed them, were bound to gall and exasperate a nature 
which presented a singular compound of cunning and boldness, 
sensuality and ferocity. But although he was vicious he was not 
deficient in a certain animal courage ; and had his daring and 
restless energies been turned into a proper channel, he might have 
' rfHticai Slati b/ Great Brilain, vol. i. Mnrch 17, \^^. 




14 Th* GeiUUmaiis Magazine. 

experienced a better fate than a misemble and di^onoured death in 
a foreign gaoL 

A pamphlet entitled " A True Narrative of what passed at the 
Examination of the Marquis de Guiscard at the Cockpit, March S, 
17H '> ^>s stabbing Mr. Harley; and other precedent and sub- 
sequent facts relating to the life of the said Guiscard," which was 
published b 1711, contains some curious but not wholly correct in- 
formation about this part of De Guiscard's life.' It was written by 
the ralebrated (or should we say notorious?) authoress, Mrs. 
Manley, from information supplied to her by Swift Swift had 
reasons of his own for not writing the account himself. In his 
"Journal to Stella," April 16, 1711, he writes : "I forgot to tell you 
ttut yesterday was sent me a narrative printed, with all the circum- 
stances of Mr. Harley's stabbing. I h«l not time to do it myself, 
so I sent my hints to die author of the " Atlantis," and she has cooked 
it into a nzpenny pamphlet, in her own style, only the first page is 
left as I was banning it But I was afraid of disobliging Mr. 
Hartey or Mr. St John in one critical point about it, and so 
would not do it myself." So Mrs. Manley wrote the tract which is 
execrable as to the style and misleading as to the facts, though 
these latter certainly have a substratum of truth. Of this pamphlet 
Boyer says, " Upon Perasal, I found (it) to come infinitely short 
of such a fromhing Tttk ; being, indeed, a ceiifufd, lame, and in 
many pla(%s false Account of Matters of Fact ; gamish'd [with 
Rhetorical Tinsel unbecoming the Gravity and Dignity of History, 
and irtiich alone is sufficient to give even Truth the air erf' a 
Somanet" The authoress accuses De Guiscard of "the most 
horrible crimes that a roan can commit " ; amot% others " that be 
and his vounEer brother.' suspecting their receiver had cheated. 1 

Antoine de Gutscard. 


forced to fly from his abbey and withdraw to his estates in the 
province of Rouergue. He was now in his forty-lhird year. His 
fonner profession being closed to him, the instincts of the soldier, 
so long repressed under the robe of the churchman, broke loose, 
and drove him to seek in war an outlet for his mischievous energies. 

The opportunity was ready to his hand. The Protestants in the 
Cevennes had broken out in rebellion against Louis XIV., and the 
Catholic abb4 smarting under his fancied grievances, determined to 
throw in his lot with them. The details of this chapter of his life 
are given at length in the " Memoires du Marquis deGuiscaid, dans 
lesquels est contenu le R«;cit des Entreprises qu'il a faites dans le 
Roiaume et hors le Roiaume de France, pour le recouvrement de la 
liberie de sa Patrie," which precious piece of autobiography he 
published at Delft in 1705. He gives a beautiful picture of the 
noble and disinterested love of liberty which led him to aid the 
Camisards (as the Cevennois insurgents were called) with money, 
arms, and advice ; but unfortunately this patriot-hero of the 
"Memoires" is a very different person from the real Antoine de 
Guiscard, a traitor, a coward, and a renegade. 

The " Memoires " are prefaced by a fulsome dedication, dated 
from the Hague, May 10, 1705, to Queen Anne, from whom De 
Guiscard was seeking patronage and preferment, and whom he 
apostrophises as " la Proleclrice de la liberie, et I'ennemie d^lar^e 
des maximes injustes du pouvoir despolique et arbitraire," and " le 
plus ferme rempart de la liberie du monde, qu'un ambitieux 
Monarque vouloit opprimer." He prays for the continuance of her 
protection for his enterprise, and congratulates her upon the 
successes of the campaign of 1704. In conclusion he begs her to 
restore liberty " Jt une Nation i qui on I'a ravie, et qui soupire apres 
une forme de gouvemement, dont le votre puisse fitre & jamais le 
glorieux modelle," and signs himself her " tr^s-humble et tres- 
obtissant serviteur, A. de Guiscard." 

This is followed by a Preface which contains much self-congratu- 
lation on his courage in attempting his difficult undertaking, even 
though he was unable to carry it to a successful termination. He 
exults in the trouble he has caused Louis XIV,, and in the reverses 
inflicted upon France by " Mylord Due de Marlebo rough." Then 
he explains that his reasons for publishing the narrative of his 
exploits (under the prtssing solicilalioiis of his friends) is lo justify 
his conduct in the eyes of those who might give credence to false 
accounts of him, and takes the occasion to contradict the reports 
of his conversion to Protestantism. But while he avows himself 1 



i6 The Gentieman's Magazine. 

Roman Catholic, be is careful to explain the points on which he 
differs from Others of his professed faith, such, for instance, as the 
infallibility of the Pope ; he declares his detestation of all religions 
persecution, and his conviction that the only means of uniting all 
men in the same faith are those which may be taken "de I'exhor- 
tation fratemelle, du bon exemple, et surtout de hi pri^e " I This is 
pretty good for a man of De Guiscard's character and reputation I 
The whole preface is a repulsive compound of vanity and hypocrisy, 
and the same tone pervades the " M^moires " themselves. 

These open with a lament over the fact that the most heroic 
actions of men are seldom free from passion and self-interest, 
and are rarely guided soldy by principle and virtue. De Guiscard 
evidently intends us to understand that the latter is the case with 
his own deeds, though, with apparent frankness, he confesses to 
"quelques raisons particuli^res et domesdques" and "injustices 
criantes bites k ma famille " which induced him to devote " une plus 
forte et plus sdrieuse attention k la nature du cruel et tyrarmique 
Gouvemement qui fait g^mir ma Patrie." What these "private 
domestic reasoru " really were we have already seen ; and the rest 
simply means that what Mrs. Manley justly calls his "undoubted 
propensity to mischief and villainy " had set his restless mind at work 
to discover in what way he could make himself most troublesome to 
that " ch^re et illustre Patrie " to which he professed himself so 
deeply attached. He goes on to speak of the misenble condition of 
France, and has a curious passage justifying civil wais as bdng really 
less fatal to a country than foreign ones; at the same time he 
repudiates any intention of fomenting a civil war himself, but states 
that his intention was only " d'^baucber . . . un Traitd de paix 
^galeraeni honorable ct avantageux i la Nation, avec ce ptodigieus 

Antoine de Guiseard. 17 

draw up a plan of aUiance between the Protestants and the Roman 
Catholics of the province, addressed to the former, and requiring 
them to respect the Catholic religion. The Protestants promised to 
stand by his rules, and certain of their chief men, under his direction, 
went about among the country people and incited them to take up 
arms against Louis XIV. The ex-abb^ then had an interview with 
some of the leading Catholics, who are said to have professed them- 
selves satisfied with his transactions with the Protestants, though this 
seems very improbable. 

These things went on during the year 1701, and in the spring of 
1 701 the Protestants began to revolt. The Baron of St. Cosme was 
murdered by his own peasants ; the Abb^ du Chailar met with a 
similar fate ; and many priests and monks were slain and their 
churches burned or pulled down. At last De Guiseard, " p^n^tr^ de 
douleur de ces profanations et de ces exces," drew up a pamphlet, 
"Avis des Fran<;ois calholiques aux Francois protestans des 
Cevennes," addressing the latter as "mes trfes-chers Freres" (a phrase 
which he constantly repeats), and explaining how the grievances of 
the Catholics were in many ways as great as those of the Protestants, 
and that therefore they should make common cause against their 
common oppressor, the King. Furthermore, the document ex- 
horted the Protestants to defend themselves boldly against their 
enemies, ahhough " dans cette affaire-ci il faut beaucoup de sang, 
il faut que la plupart de nous ser\-ions de marches au degr^, qui doit 
faire monter les autres dans le s^jour de la liberttS." (De Guiseard 
evidently meant to be among "les autres.") He promised them the 
assistance of " milliers d'hommes " who only awaited his signal, and 
expressed the confident hope that they would even be joined by 
many of the soldiers sent against them. He hinted darkly at a 
second Bartholomew determined upon by the King, and concluded 
his precious " Avis " in these words : " Je ne signe point, mais 
comptez que je suis du meme sang, dont ont ^t^ forme; les plus 
grands H^ros de la Nation, et que je brllle de marcher sur les traces 
de mes iltustres Aieux." This, combined with the fact that the 
production is dated "/'am le 8: Mars, 1703," was intended, as he 
confesses, to make the Protestants believe that a prince of the blood 
was on their side, and also to disquiet the King. De Guiseard then 
obtained from the Protestants a list of five hundred men who might 
be depended upon (o direct and keep in order the rest, and pro- 
ceeded to fortify the castle of Vareitlcs, between Rhodes and Milhau, 
which belonged to him, and which he surrounded by a covered way 
under pretext of making a terrace. This castle he designed boih as 
VOL. ccxcvii. MO, 1083. c 





iS TA* Gent^mafis Magasine. 

a rendezvous &nd as a shelter for himself in case of emergencies. 
Being looked upon as a loyal subject, he was not suspected by the 
Intendant of the district. 

Matters soon began to look serious. The Comte de Broglie^ the 
Kii^s Lieutenant in Languedoc, was repulsed by the Camisard^ 
and the disOTdet increased to such an extent that the militia of the 
pfovince, supported I^ an army of 30,000 men under the Mar&hal 
de Montrere^ was sent against the Cevennots. De Guiscard then 
distributed copies of another letter, addressed to the Militia of Ijin- 
guedoc and Rouogue as " Infortunez Paisans, ou plutot malheureux 
formats," justiiying the Protestant cause, reviling the King, the Inten- 
dants of the revolted provinces, and their delegates, and calling 
upon the soldiers not to obey the orders of " ces infames opresseun 
du peuple." The pamphlet is written in a most iaflammat(»7 style ; 
a highly-coloured picture is drawn of the persecution suffered by the 
Protestants, and the Receivers of the aforesaid proviiKes are charac- 
terised as " ces laquais revStus, ces cruelles sangsues de votre sang, ces - 
t^res achamez k votre perte." It is most improbable that so crude 
and tawdry a production had the slightest effect upon the persons 
to whom it was addressed ; yet De Guiscard avers that it had, 
although he acknowledges that a large army soon afterwards 
came into the Cevennes, " qui y mett<Ht tout ii feu et ^ sang." So 
the peisistent pamphleteer then issued two more letters written on 
the same lines as the preceding one, and addressed respectively to 
the soldiers and officers of the French troops. He proclaims himself 
a true Catholic, but calls on the soldiers to join him and the Protes- 
tant insurgents ; to the crfBcers he abuses their King, and exhorts 
them also to turn their victorious arms upon their " odieux et dur 
Prince " and to set the Dauphin upon the throne. But these letters 

Atttoine de Guiscard. 19 

began \>y burning all the churches and chapels. De Guiscard sent 
people to stop them, but it was too late, and many of the incen- 
diaries were taken prisoners by the militia and troops of Languedoc, 
although Catinat himself escaped for th^ time being. These out- 
rages so incensed the Catholic insurgents that they refused to have 
anything further to do with their Protestant allies, and thus all De 
Cuiscard's schemes were defeated. He remained for a time at 
Vareilles ; but on hearing that some of the captured Camisards had, 
under torture, denounced certain of their friends, himself among them, 
that gallant conspirator thought it quite time to look to bis own 
safety and quit France — which, he says, "je fis si !i-propos, avec 
tant de diligence et par des chemins si d^tournez, qu'il ^toit impos- 
sible que je n'arrivassc pas en Suisse aussi heureusement que je I'ai 
fait." He bade a tender farewell to the deluded Protestants. " Je 
les priai de se conserver dans leurs g^n^reux sentimens, les assArant 
que je ferois tous' mes elforts pour disposer les Hauls Alliez a les 
assister, et que si j'^tois asscz heureux pour en venir k bout, i!s pou- 
voienl compter que je ne manquerois pas d'abord de voler i leur 
secours, et d'exposer ma vie pour les d^livrer de la deplorable condi- 
tion dans laquellc je les laissois, ^tant au d^sespoir de me s^parer d'eux 
dans une conjoncture si ficheuse. Lfi-dessus nous nous donn^mes 
mille t^moignages r^ciproques d'une amitie constantc et inviolable : ils 
me promirent tous de m'attendre avec impatience, et ce ne fut qu'avec 
beaucoup de peine que je m'arrachai enfin d'aupr^s d'eux." Need- 
less to say, the hypocritical adventurer never returned to the country. 

The closing passage of what the author calls " le iidele et sincere 
r^it de ce qu'un simple Gentilhomme sans charge ni cmploi, sans 
autre relief que celui de la naissance, et par le seul secours de son 
Industrie et de son courage, a bien os£ tenter pour le recouvrement 
des Privileges et de la Libert^ de sa Nation," reads strangely in the 
light of subsequent events. He says, "J'aimerai toujours mieux 
sacrifier ma vie pour le salut, la gloire et la liberty de ma Pairie, que 
de sacrifier celte meme Patrie ^ un vil et sordide interSt." How 
much he meant by this fine sentiment will be seen later. 

Before the Snal downfall of his schemes a curious adventure 
befell De Guiscard. He was friendly with Count Pujol, the King's 
lieutenant in Upper Rouergue. On one of his journeys to Toulouse 
he met with the Count's wife and daughter on their way to Nages, and 
travelled with them. Hearing a rumour that the Camisards were up 
in arms, the ladies wished to turn back, but were persuaded by De 
Guiscard to continue their journey, and reached their destination in 
safety. They found the Count, who was new to his post, in some 




20 Th4 GentUmatis Magazine. 

perplexity owing to an aUrming letter which he had recdved from 
Banse, the Intendant's sub-de1^;ate, and Receiver of the province, 
relating to the Protestant insurrection. Pujol asked the advice 
of De Guiscard as to what answer he should make to this com- 
munication, and was recommended to send for Banse. When 
the latter arrived, De Guiscard adopted a high tone with him, 
censuring him for making go much ado over so small a matter. 
Banse related all the intelligence he had obtained, but De Guiscard 
made l^ht of everything, and finally prevailed upon the sub- 
delegate to alter his mind concerning the stringent measures he 
had intended to adopt towards the Caroisards. Banse saw that it 
would be contrary to his own interests to bring soldiers into the 
province, as he had intended asking the Count to do, for he was 
making a good thing out of the Protestants in fines, &c. ; and the 
Count, trusting De Guiscard, was quite ready to believe his assertions 
that there was no cause for alarm. De Guiscard takes much un- 
necessary credit to himself for his action in this matter on behalf of 
his allies, for it did not do them much good. Shortly afterwards 
occurred the incidents which spoiled his plans, and De Guiscard fled 
to Switzerland towards the end of the year 1703. 

' One thing must particularly strike us on reading these " Me- 
moires " : that De Guiscard's actual performances on behalf of the 
Camisards amounted to very little, although intended to convey the 
impression that he was their principal leader. Of the real heroes of 
the insurrection — of Roland, the Camisard commander-in-chief, of 
the dauntless Cavalier, of Castanet, Ravanel, and Maurel he makes 
no mention. 

Abel Boyer in his interesting work, "The Political State of Great 
Britain," gives a full history of De Guiscard, and shows that there 

Antoine de Guucard. 


expostulating with Chamillart about his brother's imprisoniDcnt, and 
by constantly speaking against Madame de Maintenon, as well as by 
his intrigues with the Protestants, as recounted above. It appears 
also thai he had by some means rescued the halter's wife from 
prison ; and it is probably to her that Mrs. Manley refers when she 
speaks of the "young lady of a good family," already alluded to, 
whom De Guiscard carried off into Switzerland and finally poisoned. 

De Guiscard first retired to Lausanne, and thence continued his 
intrigues on behalf of the Camisards, in order, as Boyer says, to 
gratify at the same time his ambition and his thirst for revenge. To 
this end he entered into negotiations with the Imperial, British, and 
Dutch Ministers, who readily concerted with him to assist the Pro- 
testants. A French refugee, Tobias Rocayrol by name, was sent 
into the Cevennes to encourage the insurgents with promises of 
help ; while De Guiscard went to Turin to enlist on their side the 
Duke of Savoy. By bis aid and that of the Confederate Ministers 
at his court, an expedition of four vessels was fitted out at Nice. 
They were manned by a mere handful of soldiers and French refugee 
officers, and commanded by De Guiscard who had obtained from the 
Emperor a commission of Lieu ten ant-General. Their design was to 
make a descent on the coast of Langucdoc, and then to join the 
Camisards. But a storm arose and the vessels were separated, one 
being driven on to the Provence coast and taken. De Guiscard 
returned to the Court of Savoy and thence departed for the Hague, 
taking Rocayrol with him. The Duke sent a messenger after him, to 
search his papers and take away a plan of the city of Turin which he 
had procured ; this was done, and the engineer who had given it to 
him was imprisoned. The incident is worthy of remark, as showing 
in what esteem De Guiscard was heid even by his patrons. 

He arrived at the Hague towards the end of the year 1704, 
under the name of the Marquis de Mcneville. The Grand Pen- 
sionary and the Duke of Marlborough, to whose advantage it was 
to foment disturbances in France, granted him interviews and held 
out promises of employment, and the States General allotted him 
a pension. His next move was to send Rocayrol to Marlborough 
(who had returned to England), with a memorial setting forth what 
he (De Guiscard) had done on behalf of the French Protestants, and 
asking for a reward, which he asserted had been promised to him. 
No notice, however, was taken of this, a circumstance which Boyer 
ascribes in part to the agency of the Marquis de Miremont, who 
objected to the affair of the Camisards being left entirely in the 
lands of De Guiscard. Rocayrol returned empt^-UiRiit'l,a,tv4.^':(CS.'\ 



23 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

aftenraids mysteriously difappeared. He had jallen into the hands 
of the French, who sent him to the galleys, and it appears not 
altt^elhei improbable that De Guiscard had some share in this 
misTottune. By this time I)e Miremonfs intrigues had been success- 
fnl; he had procured his commission as commander-in-chief of 
the relief expedition raised in London, and then went to Holland 
to secure the co-operation and pecuniary assistance of the States 
GoieraL But the latter had already approved the proposals of 
De Guiscard, and thus matters came to a deadlock, some thinking 
that De Guiscard ought to be given command of the expedition, and 
some that, as a Protestant, De Miremont was a more suitable person. 
AH efforts to reconcile the two men proved fruitless ; De Miremont, 
determined not to ally himself with a Catholic, returned to England, 
to find that his volunteers had been disbanded, the Government not 
caring to keep them in pay any longer. De Guiscard then left the 
Hague for Barcelona, to lay his plans before King Charles, and it was 
just prior to his departure that he published the " M^moires " which 
have already been described. On his way he visited Italy, where be 
bad interviews with the Duke of Savoy and Prince Eugene, and 
finally reached Barcelona in November 1705. There, with plausible 
prt^xisals and specious promises, he insinuated himself into the good 
graces of both Charles and the Earl of Peterborough ; for the former 
went so far as to write a letter to Queen Anne, in which, after b^- 
fSm% for " new Supplies of Men and Money," he recommended the 
Marquis de Guiscard to her protection, " being persuaded there is 
no fitter Person than he, in several Respects, to render this Enterprize 
mccessfuL All the Inhabitants of this Province," he goes on to say, 
"wish it fassioitaUfy, and will vigorously second him." Armed with 

Anloine de Guiscard. 23 I 

unaccountable power of attraction, which seldom failed to win him 
confidence and friendship, even from those who should have been 
better judges of men. Owing to these powerful protectors he ousted 
from favour his former rival, De Miremont, and was given the 
command of a regiment of dragoons destined to take part in an 
aggressive expedition lo France under the command of Earl Rivers. 
De Guiscard vras nominated its colonel, and drew his pay as such ; 
yet Boyer notes that he never received his commission, which 
proves that there must have existed some lurking distrust of him. 
However, by the generasity of Prince George of Denmark he 
received _£i,5oo, which doubtless consoled him for much. 

The proposed descent, however, never took place. While ' 
waiting for favourable winds De Guiscard contrived to quarrel, first 
with Lieutenant General Erie and the Earl of Essex, and then with 
Earl Rivers. These generals, finding also that he was ignorant of 
military affairs, reported his shortcomings to the Court, with the 
result that the adventurer was recalled to London, 

Whatever mortification De Guiscard may have felt at this, he did ' 
not show it ; but, thus freed from all duties, he plunged eagerly into 
the life which best suited him^a life luxurious, dissolute, and pro- 
fligate, with companions as idle and almost as vicious as himself. If 
his object was, as Boyer supposes, "to buoy up his sinking Credit, 
and screen himself from Contempt," he did not succeed ; " for," the 
same author goes on to say, " it could not but raise the Envy and 
Jealousy of many, to see a French Papist vie in Magnificence with 
the Eiiglhh Nobility and Gentry; play deep, and keep Mistresses." 
(A significant comment on the privileges of our " nobility and 
gentry ! ") In two years his money, derived partly from his regiment 
and partly from his pension, was exhausted, and he found himself 
in a precarious position. The first blow came with the cessation of 
his pension from the Slates General, who considered that his 
English sources of income should be suflScient. His good fortune 
at the gaming-tables for a time supported him, until his luck 
changed. He then tried to sell his regiment ; but while negotiating 
about it he received news that this same regiment, commanded by 
Protestant oflScers, the chief of whom was the famous Cavalier, had 
been almost cut to pieces at the battle of Almanza \ and as the 
Government did not raise it again, he lost his income from that 
source. For the next three years (1707-1710) De Guiscard was 
engaged chiefly in soliciting a pension from the English Government ; 
and his want of success, coupled with the desperate nature of his 


24 The GentUfnati s Magazine, 

position, led him into those n^otiations witti France which ultimateljr 
proved his ruin. 

For some time De Guiscard had been steadily losing favour at 
the Englisb Court ; he was discovered to be not only a villain, but a 
useless villfun, not worth employment Besides the harm which his 
quarrel with the English generals did him, he was an object of sus- 
picion to M. de Laussac, chaplain to Earl Rivers, who warned the 
Secretary of State against him. De Guiscard, whose imperious and 
uncontrolled temper could ill brook slights and opposition, was so 
unwise as to inveigh publicly against the Ministers, and even to 
e^qtostulate personally with the Duke of Marlborough. Finding this 
useless, he went to Holland to beg that his pension might be restored, 
but without success. He returned to England and lived on his 
fiiends and on such scanty resources as he still bad. A fresh blow 
befell him in the death of his friend Count Brian^on, Envoy Extra- 
ordinary from the Duke of Savoy, who had paid most of the expenses 
of their intrigues, De Guiscard was obliged to put down his coach, 
dismiss most of his servants, and finally pawn his plate. He ran 
heavily into debt, and at last could hardly eat a meal in his own 
bouse, being compelled to live on such poor food as his housekeeper 
could provide him with out of her own small store. But just when 
his circumstances seemed at the worst the Lord Treasurer told the 
Queen of his condition, and that generous and compassionate sover- 
eign (" the sanctuary of distressed foreigners," as Mrs. Manley calls 
her) ordered that he should receive a pension of ;f 500 a year. The 
Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, with r^ard to the impover- 
ished state of the Exchequer, reduced this to ;£ 400, to the great 
rage and disgust of De Guiscard, who had probably expected more. 

rAntoine de Guiscard. 25 H 

to the Countess, directed to the Earl of Portmore at Lisbon. The ^| 

Countess being out, the packet nas left on her table. When she ^| 

returned she n'as totd that the Marquis had sent the packet ; she ^| 

went to her room, and soon after declared that it was missing, feigning 
to be much concerned about it. She even promised a reward of 
two guineas to whoever should lind it, and on De Guiscard's coming 
to see her by appointment she informed him of the loss. He showed 
some anxiety, gave her an entirely untrue account of the contents of 
the letters, and begged her to look for them. On Wednesday, March 
7, he called again to inquire about the missing packet, but the 
Countess had nothing to tell him. \Vhat the letters really contained 
is not known ; the report was that they informed the Court of France 
that the time was favourable for an attempt on the part of the exiled 
Stuart prince to regain his country. 

However this may be, De Guiscard had been carefully watched 
from the time that the Government received his first letter from the 
Earl of Portmore ; and on Thursday, March S, between two and 
three o'clock, he was arrested in the Mall in St. James's Park, on a 
warrant for high treason from St. John, the Secretary of State, and 
taken direct to the Cockpit to be examined by the Privy Council. 
He was fully aware of the danger of his position, and seems to have 
resolved, therefore, to make those who were responsible for his mis- 
fortune suffer for it. He asked permission to send to an adjoining 
coffee-house for a glass of wine, some bread and butter, and a knife ; 
but the woman of the coffeehouse omitted the knife accidentally, 
according to Mrs. Manley, though B oyer's version is that she refused 
to send it. Foiled in this direction, he found in the room where 
he was confined pending the meeting of the Council a penknife 
which had been inadvertently left by one of the clerks, and this he 
secreted, though the messengers who had arrested him searched his 

! pockets. \Vhen brought before the Council he was inclined to put 
a bold face on the matter, and, interrogated by St. John regarding 
his correspondence with France, only returned evasive answers ; but 
when confronted with his own letters he saw the desperate nature of 
II his case. He expressed a wish to speak privately with St John ; 
I "^ permission was refused, upon which he remarked, " Voili qui est 
j dur, pas un mot ! " I'he bell being rung for the messengers to take 
him away, De Guiscard stooped down as if to speak to Harley, who 
was seated at the table, and stabbed him in the breast with the pen- 
knife, saying, "J'cn veujt done i toi !" The blade broke off short 
on meeting the bone, but notwithstanding this the assassin struck t, 
second blow with the broken stump. In an instant all was <:oi\tus,v»>.' 


struck t, m 

26 Tk$ GetUientan's Magazine. 

the PriTy Councillors leapt to their feet, drew their swords, and rushed 
npon the desperate man. SL John, crying, " The villain has lulled 
Mr. Hariey ! " was the first to wound him, and was followed by the 
Dakes of Ormond and Newcastle. Ear] Poulet, however, called out 
to diem not to kill De Guiscard, and, as Hariey had risen and was 
calmly walking about to reassure them, they put up their swords. 
By this time the messengers and door-keepers had rushed in snd 
attempted to seize the Marquis, who fought like a tiger and knocked 
down several of them ; but he was at last draped backwards and 
secured, principally by Wilcox, one of the Queen's Messengers, a 
very powerful man, who gave De Guiscard the bruise in the back 
which was the direct cause of his death. The one gendemanly 
instinct that still remained to the half-frantic villain was his fear of 
an ignominious death at the hands of the hangman ; and it was this 
which made him, while being bound, ciy out to Ormond, " My Lord 
Due d'Ormond, pourquoi ne me d^p*chcz-vous?"— to which the 
Duke coldly answered, "Ce n'est pas I'aflaire des honnfites gens; 
tfest raffalre d'un autre." 

A suigeon had already been sent for and now arrived — a 
Frenchman, fiussi^e by name, who lived near, in Suffolk Street. 
He attended to Harley's wound, which was upon the breast ; and, 
had it not been for the knife breaking off on the bone, the blow 
would probably have reached his heart, and so proved fatal. Hariey 
had throughout behaved with singular courage and self-possession. 
He had himself held his handkerchief to the wound until the 
surgeon's arrival, and his only remark while undergoing the probing 
and dressing was to ask whether the wound were mortal, as in that 

e he had af&irs to settle. When it was finished he was carried 

Antoifie de Gttiscard. 


strong guard to Newgate, and a strict watch was kept over him iij 
case he should endeavour to take his own^life, as_he seemed disposed 
to attempt. When, in answer to his question regarding Harley's 
condition, he learned that the Minisler was going on well, he said, 
"Then I will live," and seemed much belter when the surgeons came 
to see him the next morning. His arms were then unbound, and 
his four wounds dressed, but the fifth remained unnoticed because 
he refused to take off his, clothes on account of the state of the bed. 
Bussi^re informed the Lords of the Council that it was absolutely 
necessary that his patient should have better accommodation ; but 
another day passed before this was provided, and the fifth wound was 
then found and dressed. 

Meanwhile all sorts of extravagant stories were in circulation 
regarding De Guiscard's attempt. It was said that he had in- 
tended to kill the Queen ; that a dagger had been found on him ; 
that he had accomplices, some of whom had been discovered ; and 
that the Pretender had embarked for England. But these reports 
were quite untrue, although certain French refugees who were 
known to be in the habit of visiting him were arrested on suspicion, 
but were subsequently discharged, as nothing could be found against 

On March 9, the day after his arrest, De Guiscard expressed a 
wish to speak with the Duke of Ormond, who accordingly went to 
see him with the Secretaries of State, and sent him a present of 
some wine. The next day the Duke went again with some of the 
Privy Councillors to endeavour to draw a confession from him ; but 
De Guiscard declared there was no conspiracy and he had no 
accomplices. A pardon had been promised him if he would confess, 
but as upon a second examination he persisted in his denials, the 
promise was recalled. De Guiscard looked upon [his as practically 
his death-warrant ; he became melancholy and refused to take food. 
The surgeons found that his pulse was sinking, and a physician was 
called in, who found his condition serious. On Thursday, March 15, 
the Councillors again came to examine him, but he was then 
delirious and unable to speak. The day before, the Commons had 
decided to bring in a Bill making an attempt on the life of a Privy 
Councillor felony without benefit of clergy. Of course this could 
not be made retrospective in its action, and a clause was therefore to 
be inserted to attaint De Guiscard ; this, however, was omitted, as the 
prisoner was then dying. Boyer justly censures this proposed clause as 
"a dangerous Precedent, to punish a Man by a Law, tx poil Faete" 
On the evening of March 15 the surgeons performed an operatioD 


3$ The Gentleman^s Magazine. 

on their patient, and drew a quantity of matter from an incision 
made near the wound in the baclc. They found his condition such 
that they knew he could not live long. The operation was repeated 
the next day, which gave him some relief ; but his pulse condnued 
sinking, and he expired about two o'clock on the morning of Saturday, 
March 17. 

The inquest took place the same day, and the jury found that 
his death was caused by the bruises given him by the messengers, 
especially from the one in the back inSicted by Wilcox. Swift in the 
"Journal to Stella," March 17, says that this verdict was brought in 
" so to clear the Cabinet Counsellors from whom, he received bis 
wounds." Fending the decision of the Government as to the dis- 
posal of the body, the surgeons were directed to preserve it This 
was done, and the jailors exhibited it to crowds of people. When 
the Queen heard of these revolting indignities she was horrified, and 
commanded the Duke of Queensbeny to have the corpse buried 
immediately. Although the Queen's Mder was given on March 24, 
it was not carried out until the 37th. " We have let Guiscard be 
buried at last," writes Swift to Stella on that day, "after showing 
him pickled in a trough this fortnight, for twopence a-piece; and 
the fellow that showed would point to his body, and 'See, gentlemen, 
this is the wound that was given him by his Grace the Duke of 
Ormond ; and this is the wound,' &c., and then the show was over, 
and another set of rabble came in." He vindictively adds, " 'TIS 
hard that our laws would not suffer us to hang his body in chains, 
because he was not tried ; and in the eye of our taw every man is 
innocent till then." The remains of the unfortunate man were 
imerred in the churchyard of Christ Church without burial rites, and 

Aniotne dt Guiscard. 39 

act had another and more important consequence : it was indirectly 
responsible for the subsequent estrangement between Harley and 
St. John, "which," says Swift, "afterward had such unhappy con- 
sequences upon the public affairs," ' It was believed at the lime 
that De Cuiscard's attempt was part of a plot to gel rid of those 
English Ministers most dreaded by France ; and Sl John was jealous 
that his political rival should be the first recipient of this rather 
questionable distinction. Possibly De Gutscard would have preferred 
to kill St. John, once the companion of his pleasures and now the 
witness of his humiliation ; but, as Harley was the sufferer by the 
assault, Sl. John need not have grudged him the compensations. 

Between Boyer's and Swift's accounts of De Guiscard there are 
several discrepancies, some of which have already been mentioned. 
Boyer censured Mrs. Manley's narrative as incorrect, and Swifi, who 
had supplied the lady with her facts, retaliated by a vigorous attack 
on the Frenchman in the " Examiner." ' He accuses him, rather 
unjustly, of being "more concerned for Ihe honour of Guiscard 
than the safety of Mr. Harley," and sneers at Boyer's " Political Stite 
of Great Britain," concluding his remarks as follows : " If such a work 
must be done, I wish some tolerable hand would undertake it ; and 
that we would nol suffer a little whiffling Frenchman to neglect his 
trade of teaching his language to our children, and presume to 
instruct foreigners in our politics," In his lum Boyer said hard 
things about the " Examiner " ; and one is inclined to the conclusion 
that, of the two, Boyer is more reliable, inasmuch as he is less pre- 
judiced. Swift's strong personal attachment to Harley may well 
have rendered him incapable of dealing fairly with Harley's would-be 
assassin. " My heart is almost broken," he writes to Stella ; * and 
again, " I think of all his kindness to me. The poor creature now 
lies stabbed in his bed by a desperate French Popish villain." His 
letter to Archbishop King of Dublin is in the same strain j and later 
on in the "Journal " he expresses himself as sorry that De Guiscard is 
dying, " for they have found out a way to hang him " — probably 
alluding lo the proposed clause of attainder. In common with many 
other people. Swift believed that De Guiscard had intended, if possible, 
lo murder the Queen. He also had a very low opinion of De 
Guiscard's attainments, for in his Memoirs he speaks of the Marquis 
as "of a very poor understanding, and the most tedious, trifling 
talker I ever conversed with." Boyer, while doing justice to his 
abilities, makes no attempt to " whitewash " De Guiscard : his account 
' Memoirs lelaling lo the change in the Queen's Ministry in 1710. 
* No. 41. * Jeutnal, Much 8, 17J;. 

30 Th$ GnUkmatis Magazine. 

appears fiur and sober, if not as highly coloured as Mrs. Manley't. 
The latter, for instance, gives a liuid description of De Guiscard's last 
moments ; she declares that " upon his deathbed examination, he 
te^ the lords, ' There was somediing horrible he had to tell them 1 
— for which he ought to be torn in pieces I — stHsething iccon- 
ceivable I —exceeding all barbarity ! ' " There he stopped, and, when 
asked to continue, repeated the same expressions, and told them 
nothing of any importance or that they did not already know. The 
last time the lords were with him he is said to have implored St. 
John's pardon, and received it ; then, saying, ' Content — content ' — 
he became delirious again. It is picturesque, and may possibly be 
true, though Boyer says nothing about it; and from what we 
know of Mrs. Manley she is not above the suspicion of emtmnderiog 
on die facts supplied her by Swift, for the purpose oF concocting a 
dramatic (or melodramatic) narrative. So much for the rival 

" Les 6chafauts ne sont que pour les malheureux. Tel ienc<mtre 
une couronne oil I'autre a perdu la t€te ; et souvent les plus hooteux 
suplices et les morts les plus ignominieuses en apaience jettent 
moins de honte et d'oprobre sur la vie d'un homme, que sa vie m&me 
n'en r^pand sur lui, loisqu'il n'en joui't que d'une certaine tnaniire." 
So wrote De Guiscard in his " M^oires," and the words fonn a not 
inappropriate commentary on his own mis-spent life. It was only by 
death that he escaped the scaffold he so dreaded ; and that death in a 
prison cell and the subsequent ind^ties inflicted on his dead body 
were in reality less shameful than his life had been. His crimes and 
his brief and inglorious appearance in our history are all that render 
his name worthy of record. 




IT 18 a fimtunate circumstance that the most beautiful places in 
Greece are also the most accessible. The rich plain of 
Messene, the vale of Tempe, the town of Nauplia, the narrow 
stndt between Euboea and the mainland, are all capable of being 
seen without fatigue by the most exacting traveller. But of all the 
charming scenes in the whole country the most charming is that 
which fint meets the eye of the tourist as he enters Greek waters, 
which detains his last lingering look as he steams away to Italy — the 
island of CorfCk. 

Typical in this respect, if in little else, of the rest of Greece, 
Corfil unites the beauties of nature with the graceful memories of 
the classical past '' No gulf in the world outshines pleasant Baiae," 
says the rich man in Horace ; but the glories of Baiae pale before 
those of the lovely island where Homer has laid the most delightful 
part of the "Odyssey." Greece is, as a whole, bare of trees— the 
natural result of frequent wars and a thin soil — but CorfCi is clothed 
with verdure and rich in fruit Go where you will through the 
island, along the excellent roads which are a legacy from the British 
times, and you will drive beneath the shade of gigantic olives, which 
were planted in the days when the lion banner of St Mark still flew 
over the battlements of the old fortress. Golden ncspole^ more 
picturesque still under their Greek name of m^ismula^ peep out from 
beneath the foliage ; the orange and the lemon are here at home ; the 
tender green of the vine covers many a valley, and the hedges of 
cactus, " St Paul's figs," as the Greeks picturesquely call them, are 
interspersed with roses. Homer did not greatly exaggerate when he 
sang of the gardens of Alkino5s : 

Where great trees grow and blossom, 

Pear-trees, and pomegranates, and apple-trees with splendid fruit, 

And sweet 6gs and luxuriant olives. 

Their fruit is never destroyed, nor ever fails 

Winter or summer, all the year 'tis there.* 

• Odyssey t viL 1x4-8 

33 Th4 Gentleman's Magazttse. 

It would be difficult, too, for the eye to find a fairer prospect than 
that from the balcony of my room at CcMfd. In the distance is the 
picturesque village of Santi D^ka, a patch of white on the mountain 
side, with the red cupola of its Venetian church riang above the 
villa where Georgi Berovich, the last Turkish goremor of Crete, and 
later still the Sultan's progressive kinsman, Mahmud, found a refuge 
in their Sight. To the left, another white patch amid the green of 
the foliage and the blue of the sky is the Achflleion, that lordly 
pleasure-house which the late Empress of Austria built in the island 
of her choice. Above it, on a specular mount stands the tiny chapd 
of Hagia Kyriak^, object of her daily pilgrimages. Below are the 
lake of Ch^kitSpoulo, once the harbour of the Pheadans, and the 
bay of Kastrades, on either side of the fairylike peninsula, which 
ends at Cannone. Further to the left again stretches the sea with 
the crescent-shaped coast, which gave to the island its old name 
of Drep^e, or "the sickle," trending towards the promantoi7 of 
Leukfmne, on which the seaiaiing Corfiotes of the days of Thucy- 
dides set up a trophy for their naval victory over the Corinthians. 
On the right rise the walls of the Fortezza Nuova, where once the 
Union Jack fiew, and the natural barrier of Fantokrdtor, Corffi's 
highest mountain, with the present harbour below. And, scattered 
all over the foreground, trim houses and olive groves complete a 
picture of which even Greece, the land of soft southern lights and 
shades, may well be proud, and which to the pilgrim from the sterner 
north seems like a glimpse into a itew and idyllic world. 

In some respects the traveller just landed at Corfb can scarcely 
fancy that he has set foot on Greek soil. The town which be 
traverses is more Italian than Greek, though the signs of the shqps 
are often in both languages and the natives are bilingual. But 

'The Paradise of the Phaacians. 33 

the conditions of land tenure, and the habits of the people, are still 
laigdy based upon the Venetian polity. The titles which the 
Corfiotes, almost alone of Greeks, still use, are relics of the days 
when the shrewd statesmen of the mercantile republic, like our 
modem prime ministers in England, closed the mouths of obstre« 
perous subjects or rewarded loyal services by the bestowal of 
honorary distinctions. The Golden Book, which contained their 
names, was burnt by the excited people when the French Republicans 
landed in the island; but the Corfiote archives are still full of 
Venetian documents, and there are Corfiote families whose pedigrees 
go back to the early days of Venetian rule. 

It is in the old fortress that Venetian Corfii is still embodied* 
On dther side of the gateway are huge mortars bearing the date of 
1684, the memorable year when Morosini began his victoriot^ cam* 
paign against the Turks ; within are several more, and though the 
lion of St Mark has been dislodged from his post over the entrance, 
where now the Greek arms have been cut in stone, he is still 
rampant on the ramparts with many an old escutcheon beneath him. 
Inside, Venetian inscriptions agreeably diversify the Greek regula- 
tions for the garrison which now occupies the fortress, and one 
^lendid Venetian well, restored in 1733, recalls some of those 
marble p<nu which we associate with the old Italian cities. Happy 
in the opportunity of his burial, the architect of the old fortress has 
found his last resting-place in the wall which he built. On the left 
as you cross the ditch into the castle, an oblong piece of masonry set 
in the rampart marks his grave, while a cross above is his tomb- 
stone. His work has survived many vicissitudes. French and 
Russians, English and Creeks, have all by turns occupied the battle- 
ments which he constructed to repel the Turk ; and, though that 
old enemy still holds the clearly cut coast of Epiros, which we see 
from the top of the citadel over the azure water, the island, secure in 
the neutrality which it enjoys, has nothing to fear from that former 
foe. Yet, in days gone by, Corfti was the outpost of Europe against 
the Mussulman. Outside the old fortress an uncouth statue still 
commemorates the great German soldier of fortune, John Matthew, 
Count von Schulemburg, " commander-in-chief of the land forces of 
the Christian Republic," who successfully defended CorfCi during the 
great siege of 17 16. Twice in its history the island ran great risk of 
becoming, like Crete, a Turkish possession. On both occasions, 
once in 1537 and again in 1716, the Turks landed their forces at 
Govino, where the fine arches of the later Venetian arsenal may 
still be seen, but on both occasions they failed to take the fortress. 

VOL. ccxcvii. NO. 2083. P 

34 Tht Gentleman's Magaetne. 

Corfiote piety ascribed their second defeat to Uie special inter- 
vention of Santo Spiridione, the patron saint of the island, who 
^>peared to the panic-stricken Turks in the form of a monk with a 
firebrand in his hand The memory of this exploit is still preserred 
at Corfd. Not only did ±e grateful Venetian senate and the Corfiote 
nobles dedicate to him two massive silver lamps, which still haog in 
his church, but on August ^ in each year, the anniversary of 
the day which saw the Turkish rout, the body of the saint is carried 
in procession through the town with military honours. 

Santo Spiridione had good reasons for protecting his faithful 
Corfiotes against the Turks. A Cypriote by birth, a shei^erd and a 
bishop by profession, after a life of miracles diversified by theological 
controversies at Nice, he died and was bnried in his native island in 
the middle of the fourth century. But the hand of the invader 
would not let the saint's corpse rest in peace. The Saracen conquest 
of Cyprus drove it to Constantinople ; the Turkish conquest of 
Constantinople caused its further transportation together with that 
of Santa Theodora, wife of the iconoclast Emperor The<Sphilos, to 
Corfb on the panniers of a mule, securely packed in straw. From 
the coast of Epiros, the worthy priest, Gedrgios Kalochair^tea, who 
was in charge of the mule and its burden, was ferried over to Corfb. 
There the two bodies have remained for four and a half centuries. 
Ge<Srgios's three sons inherited them at his death, the two eldest 
becoming proprietors of Santo Spiridione's mortal remains, the 
youngest having as his share the corpse of Santa TheodiJra, which he 
soon presented to the Corfiote community. The relics of Santo 
Spiridione passed into the possession of GeiSrgios's granddaughter, 
Asim^n^ who married a member of the important family of Boiilgaris, 
and on her death the body became the property of her descendants 

The Paradise of the Pkaacians. 35 

processions — ^tbe Venetians, under whom^all four were instituted, the 
French, the Russians, and the English. As for the natives, they 
diow their r^ard for the saint by calling thar sons Spiro in his 
honour, just as at Zante almost every one is named Dion^sios, and at 
KephallenTa the popular name is Gerdsimos. Santa Theod6ra is less 
famous than her companion in exile ; but her remains, minus the 
head, are still preserved in a tomb, which stands to the left of the 
altar in the metropolitan church. 

There is a perverse spirit abroad in these days, which seeks to 
deprive classic sites of the honours accorded to them by the 
traditions of centuries. Dr. Ddrpfdd has proved, at least to his 0¥m 
satisfaction though not to that of the Ithakans, that the Ithtte of 
Homer was not the modem island of that name, but Santa Mavra. 
Others have similarly sought to annul Corfu's claim to be the Scheria 
of the ** Odyssey," upon which the long-suffering hero was cast 
ashore. But a long list of ancient Greek writers, from Thucydides 
downwards, might be made out in support of the established theory ; 
when the French landed in the island in 1797, the archbishops 
presented their commander with a copy of the '' Odyssey," and, if 
allowance be made for poetic Ucence and for the changes of thirty 
centuries, the scenes of the Ithakan king's sojourn at the court of 
Alkinods can be hxAy well identified at CorRi. The ''shady moun- 
tains of the Phaeacians' land," which he saw on the eighteenth day 
after leaving Calypso's isle, and which looked *' like a shield in the 
sea," answer quite well to the mountains of the island. The descrip- 
tion of the rocky promontories, near which Odysseus found himself 
after swimming for two days and two nights in the angry sea, 
corresponds to more than one part of the Corfiote coast At the 
entrance to the lake of Chalikidpoulo, where he is usually supposed 
to have swum in, the water, it is true, is no longer ''deep close to 
the shore " ; but that lake, originally the old Hyllaean harbour, has 
become much shallower since the Homeric days. The " mouth of 
the fair-flowing river," where he found safety, is said, not without 
show of reason, to be one of the streams which flow from the foun- 
tain of Cressida and discharge into the lake, and that fountain may 
well be the place where Nausikaa went to wash the clothes on the 
morning when she met Odysseus. I walked one day to Cressida, 
which is a little more than five kilometres by road from CorfCi, and 
found the spring gushing out from under a rock beneath a fig-tree, 
which might well have provided the naked hero with the covering 
mentioned in Homer. Near the spring now stand a small inn, a 
mill, and a chapel of Hagfa Kyriak^, and my appearance excited 

36 TAi GentUman's Magazine, 

great interest among the country-rotk, who at once asked me if I 
wanted water. Tbej- told me that that of Cressida U never dnink, 
though it looks pure at the source, because, as one of them said 
with an expressive gesture " it is bad for the stomach." It is veiy 
coh), and I noticed with much interest that a group of modon 
Nausikaas were engaged in washing their clothes in the stream. I 
then proceeded to trace it to the sea. Crossing over a bridge, 
beneath which it flows through rank beds of weeds, I traversed a 
wood and emerged in an open space not far from the sea, just as 
Homer describes it : 

A wood nemr the water 
Id a deu pUce. 

From there to the mouths of the stream there are extensive corn- 
fields, broken up by the sluggish arms of the muddj river, which can 
there no longer be described as " beautifully flowing." A chorus of 
frogs greeted me as I made my way through the matsh, and a bare- 
legged man, suddenly emerging from behind the com, reminded me 
of the sudden apparition of Odysseus to Nausikaa and her maidens. 
And, in driving home along the road from Santi D^ka, I felt that I 
was traversing the same route over which the white-armed daughter 
of Alkino6s had been borne in her mule cart — the dmaxa, which is 
the modem no less than the Homeric word for a vehicle. Indeed, 
all over Greece, youi cabman or boatman constantly uses expressions 
which have been in use since the days of the " Odyssey," and which 
prove the continuity of the Greek language across the vicissitudes of 
three thousand years. 

Perhaps there is no spot near CorH^ more romantic than the islet 
<rf Pondikonisi, which lies opposite Cannone, and which is the 
/ of the church of the Madonna del Forestieri. How t 

Tke Paradise of the Phaacians. 27 

rock —the quarter-deck of the Phseacian vessel — into a lovely garden, 
put a few tables and chairs there, and is wont to receive strangers 
to tea in his island hermitage. Many a distinguished stranger has 
crossed over from the little nunnery, tenanted by nine nuns, which 
stands at the end of the breakwater, and from which a ferry-boat 
plies to the islet. On the outside of the chapel inscriptions com- 
memorate the visits of the iate Empress of Austria and her ill-starred 
son, of the King and Queen of Greece, and of two Russian Grand- 
dukes. The inscriptions are all in Greek, save those in honour of 
the Empress and the Archduke Rudolph. I copied the two latter 
down, and give them here, without correcting the monk's Italian; 

ElLsabetIa d' Auitria 

Qui si posando 

Per Lei «]HnTo le aurc piii miti 

E lo scoglio che per La dava liori 

Ama seibarne memoria,— MDCCCLXI, 

Immediately beneath this tablet is that commemorative of the 
Archduke's visit : 

II bustiiaimo giomo 

a9 Agosio 1877 


II del seteno il leffiro soave 

II placido mormorio delle onde 

Alia calnrn al dilelio alia pace 

L'Acciduca Rodolfo 

Principe eredilario d' Austria Ungi'tia 


In queito deliiioso scoglio 

Gli dieron saggio 

D' UD dei migliori dl delta vita 

II monoco Simeone Cooto 

In Kgno di graiiiudiac 

Alia posterity consacn. 

Often in the late afternoon I have crossed over to this island of 
dreams, which the famous painter Boecklin is said to have taken as 
the original of his " Island of the Dead." From the trellised roof of 
the platform, on which you land, the passion flower is hanging ; only 
the cypresses above whisper of death. But from the stem of the 
ship the blue expanse of the Ionian sea stretches far away to the 
south, while from the prow the eye traverses the shallow lake and the 
peninsula. Two octopuses, hanging from the bars of the upper 
verandah, keep up the illusion that you are on board a vessel, one 
of those fishing-boats whose yellow s-tils are catching the sunlight out 


38 The GetUkman's Magatint. 

towardi Epiros jonder. Many an artist, many a weur man of 
letters, might bare envied the monlc Simeon this poetic retreat from 
the worid, illuminated with the divine genius of Homer. Poodl- 
konisi has rivals, as we said. There is the rock, which one tees out 
in the sea from the pass of Pantaleone, Kuivi (" ship ") by name, 
which looks so exactly like a ship in fiill sail with a little boat attached, 
that many persons are at first inclined to brieve that it i* a real 
vessel There is, too, the little rock near Vido^ called Kondyloaisi 
from the reeds, used as pens, iriiicb once grew on it, and whidi was 
at one time crowned by a chapel of the Virgin. The Italian name 
of a reef tn the north channel near the lighthouse idand of Tignoso^ 
Barchetta, would seem to point to some similar legend. 

The site of the Phnadan city of AlkinoOs is generally placed on 
the peninsula, between the bay of Kastiides and the lake of Chali- 
ki6poulo,' though there is naturally no positive proof obtainable of 
such identity. Upon the same site, in historic timea^ rose the 
Corinthian colony of Corcyra, which was the cause of the Pelopon- 
nesian war, and whose sanguinary tumults live for all time in the 
pages of Thucydidea. A number of antiquities, found there during 
the execution of some public works in 1813, the tradition embodied 
In the still current name of Palaidpolis (" old city ") for this part of 
the island, and the description of Thucydides, who says that the 
ci^ had two harbours, all point to the accuracy of this hypothesis. 
Ttw modem Corfiotes ddight in reminiscences of their classical 
days. "Alkinods Villa "and "Street of the Ph3eBcians''are names 
irtiich attract the notice of the pedestrian on the way to Cannon& 
Homer and Demodokos, the bard of AlkinoOs, have been com- 
memorated by streets, and the street nomenclature of the town has 
also borrowed largely ^m the events of the struggle between Corinth 

The Paradise of the Pfueacians. 39 

The early centuries of Christianity have left their mark on th& 
island also. Two kinsmen of the Apostle Paul, mentioned in the 
" Epistle to the Romans," ' Jason bishop of Tarsus, and Sosipatet 
bishop of Iconium, who came as the iirst missionaries to CorfCi, 
where one was martyred, have bequeathed their names to one of the 
two oldest churches there. The church of SS. Jason and Sosipater 
at Kastrddes, which in its present form dates from the twelfth 
century, is the successor of an earlier building and is mainly 
interesting from the fact that it contains the tombs of the wife erf 
Thomas Palaioldgos, last Despot of the Morea, and of George 
PhianLt&s, the historian of the Turkish conquest. Phrantzfis was 
the confidential adviser of the last Palxol6goi princes ; and, when the 
Peloponnesos at last fell beneath the blows of Mohammed II., he^ 
like the despicable Despot Thomas, took refuge at Corffi, and there^ 
at the request of some noble Corfiotes, as he tells us, composed, in 
the sOence of a monastery, the story of his troublous limes. Stern 
classicists, who despise the literature of an age when diro governed 
the accusative, have no thought for poor PhrantzSs and his book. 
But to those who think no page in the history of Hellas unworthy of 
attention his work cannot fail to appeal, and here, beside the tomb 
of mediaeval Greece's last contemporary historian, the friend of the 
young Greek kingdom may meditate on the causes which for nearly 
four centuries placed the Greeks beneath the sway of the Turk. 

The other old church, that of the Virgin in Falai<5polis, lies 
buried in a delightful garden to the right of the road to Cannone, 
The west doot is the only remaining part of the Byzantine fabric ; 
and the sun, streaming through the trees, enables us to read an 
old inscription which describes in four hexameters the story of ils 
foundation : 

Having lo/al ^ih, wliich helped my slrcnglh, 
To the«, blessed tuler of tbe skies, I raised this sacret] temple. 
After de«lroying the precincts and altars of the pagan Gieeks, 
I, Jovian, wiih my hnmble hand, \o thee, O Loid. 

Who this particular Jovian was, is not precisely known ; but it has 
been assumed by Hertzbcig, the German historian of Roman Greece, 
that it was none other than the emperor of that name, who succeeded 
Julian the Apostate, and restored the Christian religion to the place 
from which his predecessor had degraded it. If so, the church 
acquires an additional interest as being perhaps the first constructed 
out of a heathen temple after the reaction which followed the death 

• xvi. II. 

40 Tk4 Gentkmatis Magazine. 

The old city was abandoned by its inhabitants about the seventh 
century, in consequence of its exposed position which left it at the 
mercy of Gothic invasions, and a new town was founded on the 
rocks where the Fortezza Vecchia now stands. From the two peaks, 
or Mfw^ on that promontory, the city obtained the Byzantine 
name, which, in its corrupted form of " Corfii," it still retains in 
Italian, and under which both town and island are universally known 
outade of Greece. This was the stronghold for whose possession 
Normans and Byzantines strove so stoutly, before whose walls the 
fleet of the crusaders cast anchor on the way to overthrow the Greek 
empire of Constantinople, whose Greek inmates offered a reluctant 
and.brief resistance to the able man of their own race and creed, 
Michael Angelos Komnends, who bad reared on the ruiiu of the 
empire an independent Greek state in Epiros over the water. He 
it was, if we may believe the local tradition, who erected on the 
great rock high above the sea to the north-west of the monastery of 
Palaiokastrizza, the grim fortress, Castello Sant' Angelo, which has 
withstood many a siege and still preserves in its niins the name of 
his fomily. It was the last time for six centuries that the Corfiotes 
were governed by rulers of Greek stock and orthodox religioa VVi^ 
in their generation, and knowing what influence religion and its 
-priests have always had over Greek communities, the Angeloi 
granted special fiscal privil^es to the orthodox clergy, who were 
degraded from their high position by the Catholic Angevins, and 
were not restored to it till the Russians landed in Corfti a hundred 
years ago and Admiral Ouzakoff listened to a Te Deum in the 
church of Santo Spiridione. 

The memories of the British protectorate cannot tail to i 
visitors of our race. The " United Sutes of the Ionian Islands," 

The Paradise of the Pksacians. 

Suli, with nbich it has been joined in immortal union by the ^ 
of Byron : 

On Suli's rock nnd Parga's shoie 
E xUts Ibe lemiuint of a Uqc. 
Such as tbe Doric tnolhers Lore. 

Now, &fteen years before the British protectorate, a treaty had 
been concluded between Russia and Turkey, then celebraung one of 
their periodical honeymoons, by which the dependencies had been 
ceded to the latter. But the brave inhabitants of Parga had suc- 
cessfully resisted all attempts of Ali Pasha of Joannina to conquer 
it, and at the time ofthe British protectorate their abode remained the 
sole free spot of Greek territory. A British garrison under the Swiss 
Colonel de Bosset was placed there, and the inhabitants naturally 
believed that they would remain under British protection. The Porte, 
however, now called upon Great Britain, as the inheritor of Russia's 
treaty liabilities, to hand over Parga to the tender mercies of the 
Turk. I have heard it said — and can well believe it— that our 
Foreign Office imagined Parga to be an island. Indeed, it was so 
described by Mr. Goulbum and Lord Lauderdale during the debate 
in Parliament At any rale, in spite of the efforts of Sir Thomas 
Maitland, who personally visited Ali Pasha on behalf of Pai^a, the 
British Government ceded the litile town to the Sultan, who on that 
condition consented to recognise the British protectorate of the 
Ionian Islands. Rather than remain as his subjects, the heroic 
inhabitants resolved to emigrate, and the British provided ihem with 
houses, free of rent, at Mandoiichio, one of the suburbs of Corffi, 
where I have seen their descendants still peacefully living. The 
exiles also received a large indemnity \ but the Greek thinks no 
indemnity a recompense for the loss of his country. Eloquent 
Italian poets composed poems on the cession of Parga ; a whole 
literature grew up around the rock, which seems so unimportant that 
it rarely attracts the notice of the traveller on his way from Corfii to 
PaCras. Even now the cession rankles in the heart of many a Greek. 
I know one worthy man from Parga, now comfortably established at 
Athens, whose anti-British sympathies are entirely due to that sur- 
render. In the garrison church at Corfii may still be seen the 
sacred pictures and other furniture of the church at Parga, which 
the Paigians brought with them to Corfii in 1819, and which, after 
various vicissitudes, were placed there in 1865, there to remain "until 
the day when Parga shall once more be free," That day will, no 
doubt, come ; and, if Great Britain supports the claim of Greece to 
South Epiros when the fateful moment arrives, the cession of Parga 


43 The Gentleman's Magtuine. 

will become a memoiy which a high-spirited people can contemfbte 
without bitterness. 

Among their best friends in the early yeats of the British Pro- 
tectoiate the Corfiotes are wont to reckon Lord Guilford. That 
extraordinary man was conspicuous for his PhilheUenism even in an 
age which produced a Byron, a Gordon, and a Church. For he wu 
not only a Greek by political sympathy ; he also adopted Ae 
Orthodox rel^on, and was baptised in the house which is now die 
Capodistria Academy. The third son of the famous Lord Notth 
who lost us the American colonies, he passed much <rf his time in 
Corf^ where he devoted his energies to the improvement of edoca- 
tion. Under the Venetians, shrewdly practical people, who offered 
twelve gold pieces (360 drachmai) for every plantation of one hutMlred 
olive trees, but allowed no public schools to be founded, the people 
had been k^ in the darkest ignorance of letters. As an example 
di the prejudices thus engendered we may mention the indignatioa 
of the older Corfiotes at the introduction of potatoes and tomatoea 
into the island by the French. Such new-^mgled vegetables, of 
which the gardens of AlkinoCs had been innocent, were invented by 
the devil for the express purpose of poisoning the faithful I Under 
the Russians, in 1S05, the first public sdiool was founded, and 
Capodistria became its first inspector. Lord Guilford, however, 
went much further. He founded at CorfCi the Ionian Academy, over 
whose proceedings he presided in ancient Greek dress, and whote 
professors, similarly clad, were distinguished by the colours of their 
robes, according to the faculties which they rqweiented. Not widt- 
out reason has Lord Guilford been commemtuated by a statue in 
the public garden, and a street bears bis name. But bis university 
has ceased to exist since the union with Greece and thus Corflr, 

The Paradise of the Pkmacians. 43 

Vote by ballot, the use of the Greek language in the chamber, a 
wide suffrage, and a. free press were granted in 1849. A new era at 
once b^an. A number of raushroom journals instantly sprang up 
in the various islands, and, as some of the cleverest writers in Europe 
had taken refuge there from the reaction which had by thai time set 
I all over the Continent, there was no lack of journalists. Our 
administration was represented as a scarcely veiled tyranny by French 
and other pamphleteers, and with more reason those British politi- 
cians who had violently denounced Austria for her treatment of 
Lombardy and Venetia were asked why they retained the Ionian 
Islands. Since the commencement of the protectorate, the creation 
of the Greek kingdom had provided a natural magnet for the desires 
of patriotic Greeks elsewhere. Politicians at Athens stimulated the 
aspirations of the lonians for annexation to Greece, and soon the 
cry for union became general. At first it had been mainly confined 
to Kephallenfa and Zante, islands which are nearer to Greece, as 
well as more Greek by race, and which naturally did not receive so 
much of the golden rain poured from the coffers of the British 
Government over the capital. A peasant insurrection in Kephallenla, 
headed by a priest, and directed against the landowners, had to be 
suppressed by force, and the hanging of the priest in his robes was 
a mistake which was never forgotten. At last the British Govern- 
ment sent out Mr. Gladstone to inquire into the grievances of the 
lonians. Mr. Gladstone was a better Homeric scholar than diplo- 
matist ; his civilities to the clergy did not make them swerve from 
their Unionist principles ; wherever he went, he was greeted with 
cries of liTftta ^ h/iaa\<i. The fall of King Otho and the election 
of King George decided the fate of the British protectorate. It was 
resolved to hand over the islands to Greece, on certain conditions. 
One of these was the neutrality of CorfCi and Paxo ; the other, inserted 
in the treaty at the request of Austria, was the destruction of the two 
important forts of Abraham and Vido, on which we had just spent 
;^ao,ooo. The latter commanded the channel of Corffi, and its 
value had been recognised by the French, who destroyed the fine 
olive grove upon it to make way for fortifications, and, having made 
it a solitude, called it peace — lie de la Paix, instead of Vido, the 
rame of its owner in the sixteenth century. The English had built 
yet stronger fortifications, sacrificing for the purpose the old church 
of Santo Stefano, which under the Angcvins had given its name 
to the island. My friend, Col. Le Mesurier, who was ordered to 
blow up the fort with guncotton, tells me that the explosion 
broke all the windows in the opposite houses of Corfd. Strolling 

44 T^ GtntUmaiis Magazuu. 

among the gigantic ruins, which He Tor the most part as tbey fell, 
I seemed to be in the preserx^ of some gi^ntic cataclysm, mcfa as 
destroyed Seiinunte. Were it not for the date of 1837, still visible 
on one of the fallen blocks, one might fancy that these huge masses 
were of Roman origin ; they all show to the antiquaries of the future 
that we, too, were great builders. The director of die agricultural esta- 
blishment lives in a house built from the fragments, and on the (ar 
side of the island is a small English burial-place. One tmnb — a 
cross enclosed in four walls — alone remains, overgrown with briars, 
and its inscription is quite illegible. Col. Le Mesurier, however, 
knows its history ; it contains the body of a British soldier, shot over 
his coflSn for trying to escape to the Australian goldfields. Five 
families alone live on Vido, occupied with planting poutoes, vines, 
and young trees. As the islet has fresh water, it may is time recover 
some of its former luxuriance. 

The traces of the My years' British occupation of the Ionian 
Islands have not quite died away, though the fortieth anniversary of 
the union with Greece occurred this year. The initials " G.R." and 
"V.R." may still be seen in the palace, the townspeople still drink 
the excellent water which the Lord High Commissioner, Sir Frederick 
Adam, brought to their doors from Benizze, and the square which 
now bears his name was so called because of the solemn doxology 
held there in 1831 to commemorate the opening of the aqueduct. 
The fact that Corfti is the only place in Greece where b^^ars demand 
a " far " (or " farthing "), and where the boys play cricket daily, is due 
to British influence, and the game has become so popular among 
the young men that a regular dub has lately been founded, which 
plays matches with the officers of any British men-of-war which may 
chance to be in the liarbour. The sutue of Britannia, which once 

The Paradise of Ike PAceacians. 45 

while the amusements, which always follow the British officer, 
attracted natives and strangers alike to the place. No doubt this 
concentration of interests in the town had the bad effect of inducing 
the landowners to leave their estates in the interior of the island, in 
order to have their share in the social gaieties and lucrative employ- 
ments which the capital offered. But there can be no doubt what- 
ever that the material prosperity of Corffi was much greater under 
the British than it has ever been since. Every Cortiole to whom I 
have talked on the subject frankly says as much, and even the local 
papers— the "Phone," the "Ephemeris ton Eid^seon," and the 
"Pr<Sodos" — grudgingly admitted as much in the more or less 
apologetic articles which they published when I last witnessed this 
national anniversary. The " Prdodos " wrote sadly that " the names 
of the Ionian national martyrs have been buried in oblivion," and, 
indeed, one hears little enough about Lombdrdos, ZerlxSs, and the 
other eloquent champions of union, whose speeches made the 
roof of the old Ionian Parliament, now the English church, ring 
with denunciations of British misgovernment, and with gorgeous 
descriptions of the island's future under the benevolent sceptre of a 
constitutional king of the Hellenes. It is perfectly clear that the 
same desire for the union of the race — the Elhnos about which we 
hear so much — which now prompts the unionist aspirations of the 
Cretans, existed in Corfd, and I for one cannot help admiring the 
patriotic enthusiasm of the Greeks for their grand idea. But, if 
the happiness of peoples depends, as materialistic philosophers would 
have us believe, on considerations of pounds, shillings, and pence, 
then the union was a mistake. For the Greek Government has not 
done much— perhaps cannot do much — for the Ionian Islands. Even 
the blessing of royal visits is rarely vouchsafed to the Corfiotes, 
though in this respect they are no worse off than the rest of King 
George's provincial subjects. True, in the first blush of enthusiasm 
after the union he came to Corfii, and the garrison church under the 
old fortress, where once the English soldiers worshipped, witnessed 
the baptism of Prince George of Crete and the marriage of the 
King's daughter (Princess Maria) lo the Grand Duke George 
Michaelovich. But the lovely villa of Mon Repos, formerly the 
suburban residence of the British High Commissioner, is usually 
empty, in spite of its glorious views over those Epirote mountains 
which, if Greece had had her rights at Berlin, would now form part 
of the Greek kingdom. The garden of the villa is neglected, and 
overgrown with the pbnts which ficurish so luxuriantly in thia 
bountiful soil. The rooms are closed, and the visitor might fancy 

46 Tie GeKtUman's Magatitu. 

that this was a part of the domain of Alkinobs, rather than a de- 
pendence of the great white palace at Athens, They say that the 
Queen does not like Corfli ; but, be the cause what it may, both the 
royal villa and the palace in the town aie almost always empty. 
The hall where once the Ionian Senate met, the reception rocnns 
where once the Lord High Commissioner held his court, are deserted. 
Some time ^o, indeed, people thought that the King was likely to 
spend more time in the island, for he bought some land near his 
villa, and enclosed with a formidable wooden fence, which the writer 
scaled at the risk of impating himself, the fiuted ruins of the old 
Doric temple, said by some to be that of Poseidon, that same god 
who turned the Phaeacian ship to stone. But this new acquisitioa 
has not enticed the King away from the charms of Tatoi, nor can 
the grand old Venetian fountain at Kardiki on the shore below, 
where the water flows from out of a winged lion's mouth, compare 
with the cosmopolitan delights of AIx-les-Bains. 

This lack of royal patronage is, however, only one cause, and that 
the smallest, of the present poverty of CorfiL Strangers arriving in 
this magnificent island, where nature seems to have done everything 
for man, can scarcely believe that dismal, abject, and apparently 
hopeless distress is the lot of the peasants. Even in the town 
starvation faces the poor every winter, though here winter loses half 
its terrors. Here alone in Greece is one besi^ed by beggars, and 
one Saturday morning I counted no fewer than seventy of these 
mendicants outside the garden gate of the English parsonage. But, 
up the country, in the villages remote from the town, the condition 
of the peasants is even worse than that of the poor townsfolk. CorfEi, 
it must be remembered, has only two main articles of export — wine 
and oil, of which 130,000 and 110,000 barrels respectively were pro- 

The Paradise of ike Pk^acians. 


system of payment in kind and the smallness of most Corfiote estates 
make the prolits small and difficult to realise. The landlord or his 
agent must go in person to assess the amount of the produce — 
usually one-fourth — due to him, and then has to sell it as best he 
can in the market at Corffi. The method of taxation, which has 
existed ever since the year 1803, also imposes all the burdens on 
the land. For in the island, which has a distinct fiscal system 
from that of continental Greece, there are only two taxes— namely, 
export duties of 22-j per cent, on the oil and wine. The Greek 
Government has several times tried to bring about the assimilation of 
the Corfiote fiscal system with that prevailing in other parts of the 
kingdom, but without success. From the point of view of a Greek 
Chancellor of the Exchequer, the oil duty, which one year produces 
a good revenue and the next hardly anything at all, has its disadvan- 
tages, especially if his term of office chances to fall in the lean year. 
Moreover, since the expiration of the commercial treaty between 
Greece and Italy, a high import duty, imposed in the interest of the 
South Italian wine-growers, has led to a great decrease in the amount 
of wine exported from Corfii. But the Corfiotes say that there is 
practically no leakage in the collection of these two duties, whereas, 
on the mainland, before the International Control was instituted, the 
taxes seldom realised their full amount, and arrears were enormous. 
One other curious result of the Corfiote method of taxation is that 
the Jews, who number about 3,000 at the present date (2,653 io 
1879), pay no taxes at all. For in Corffi, as all the world over, the 
Hebrew shows little desire to embark on agricultural pursuits. 
Accordingly, for them and for foreigners settled in the island but 
unconnected with the soil, living is very cheap. Rates have, how- 
ever, risen since a recent mayor signalised his tenn of office by the 
erection of a fine new theatre, which was to have cost £,-iA,MS> and 
for the completion of which, after the work had been suspended for 
six years, a large loan had to be raised from the National Bank. 
Hitherto the Corfiotes, who are fond of both the Greek and Italian 
drama, had been content with the old theatre, the drop-scene of 
which depicted the entertainment of Odysseus at the Phreacian court. 
The great white front of the new building is more imposing than 
beautiful, and the whole undertaking, which has cost from first to 
l^LSt ;£3i,SSOi reminds one of those gigantic public offices which 
Italian municipalities erect with the money that might hare been 
devoted to remunerative public works. 

Can anything be done to relieve the awful poverty of CorfCi? 
That is the question which suggests itself to every lover of the 

48 Tht GetUhman's Magasine. 

island. It has been thought b^ some of the natives that the salration 
of the country would be a land-bank, which would advance moner to 
the peasants for improvements at a reasonable rate of interest, instead 
of the 240 per cent, (i drachma per month for ever; 5 dncJunai 
lent) now extorted from them by close^sted usurers. Othen, and 
these are in the majority, advocate a gaming-table. But, quite apart 
from moral grounds, one wonders whether the island would reap 
quite such a golden harvest as is expected from its tiansformatioo 
into a Greek Monte Carlo. Gamblers care nothing for scenery ; they 
prefer the green cloth to the green olive-grove^ and they will not put 
themselves out of the way in order to feast their eyes on the scenery 
of Corfli. And for the " European " gambler — to use the convenient 
Greek term which describes all west of Greece as " Europe " — Coift, 
even with all the advantages of the suggested Sidaii and Otranto route, 
is far more remote than Monte Carlo. Otranto is at the extreme end 
of the Adriatic railway, and those who, like myself, have several times 
traversed the length of that line, well know how laborious and how 
slow the journey is. Probably, therefore, the players would be 
mosdy Levantines from Smyrna, a few people from Athens and 
Constantinople, and any CorGotes who, scorning the milder delights 
of "mouse" — the Greek equivalent of "bridge" — could manage to 
evade the proposed regulation that only the foreigner should have 
an (^)portunity of losing his money. Nor would the bulk oS the 
emphyis, if we may judge by the example of Monte Carlo, be chosen 
from the people of the place. As for the moral tone of Corflt, it 
would scarcely be improved by the admixture of Smymiote visitors, 
male and female, who might be expected to take up their quartert 
here, and respectable people would hardly be attracted by the 
prospect of rubbing shoulders with Levantine eocotles, more viciously 

The Paradise of the PAaacians, 4$ 

nearly all been visitors, like Alexander the Great and the great 
Constantine, Belisarius and Cicero, Aristotle and the poet Solom<$s, 
all of whom are commemoraled by streets in the town. In neither 
Greek, Roman, nor Byzantine limes do we read of any Corfiote 
celebrated for great political or literary talents ; under the Venetians 
almost the sole Corfiote man of letters was the quaint historian 
Marmora, and it was not till the period shortly before the dawn of 
Greek independence that the soil of the island, so prolific of fruit, 
yielded also a harvest of genius. Eug^neios Boiilgaris, the worthy 
predecessor of KoraSs in the formation of the modern Greek language, 
and his fellow-worker in this field, NikephiS os Theot6kes, eponymous 
hero of the main street of CorfJi, were both members of old Corfiote 
families, and Capodistria, the President of Greece, was born in a 
house on the sea-wall, now marked by a marble tablet, and lies 
buried in the family burial-place within the convent of Platut^ra. 
Time has done much to dispel the animosities which Capodistria 
inspired in his lifetime, and which led to his murder at Nauplia ; his 
difficulties and his virtues are now recognised, as well as his errors ; 
his fellow-countrymen ha^'e erected a marble statue of him on the 
Esplanade, a school bears his name, and a learned Corfiote, Mr. 
Idrom^nos, has rendered justice to his memory in a readable mono- 
graph. Besides Capodistria, the name of Andrea Mustoxidi, the 
erudite author of an historical treatise on the antiquities of the 
island, unfortunately incomplete, deserves mention. During the 
British days, Mustoxidi was the chief literary as well as a 
prominent political figure in Corfd, and his works {wssesa the 
charm inseparable from all who write in Italian. In our own days 
Corfi has thrice given, in the person of Mr. George Theotdkes, a 
Prime Minister to Greece, who accomplished the rare feat of re- 
maining three yeais in power, AVhen we consider, however, the 
great men produced by some of the small .^gean islands, the 
intellectual yield of Corfi'i cannot be regarded as remarkable. Nor, 
in a lower sphere, in (he arts of money-making, has this island been 
able to compete with Kephallenfa and Zante. The Corfiotes com- 
plain that they have few millionaires— a complaint not without 
reason in Greece, because the Greek, unlike the South African, 
millionaire is always the benefactor of his country. True, a lady of 
the Mocenigo family left a large sum for educational purposes ; a 
rich Greek from Epiros founded the agricultural station on Vido ; 
and a Mr. Zamb^les bequeathed a fortune for draining the marsh 
of \'alle di Ropa in the centre of the island, a work carried out 
by an English engineer, Mr. Broughton. But Corfiotes, as a rule, 
VOL. ccxcvii. HO. aoBj. t 

50 The Gentlemaiis Magazine. 

do not emigrate — why should they leave their beautiful island? — 
while Kephallenians are driven by the asperity of the soil to se^ 
fortunes abroad. It was thus that the late Mr. Vagliano originally 
a boatman from Kephallenla, who to the last confessed that " he 
was no scholar" (SiF '^tifna ypa/>/uira), became one of Londm's 
wealthiest Greelcs, whose riches have sow in laige part reverted to 
his native island. I am afraid that no such fortune awaits my 
friendly boatman Niko, who takes me out every morning for a bathe 
under the shadow of the old fortress. To Corfiote drivers and 
boatmen the advent of strangers is a godsend ; and' when a large 
British fleet arrives for manceuvres, as it did this spring, or a 
steamer lands two hundred French tourists, prices go up, and my 
coachman, Angelo, earns a little money for the support of his large 

A stroll through the town of Corfd is suffident to convince the 
observant visitor of the composite character of the population. One 
may trace here and there the Anglo-Saxon paternity of some who 
are old enough to have been bom under the British Protectorate. 
The Venetian element is considerable, especially among the upper 
classes, there is a large Italian colony, and 1,400 Maltese have 
settled here. One quarter of the town is popularly known as the 
'E/SpaiKo, where, almost alone in Greece, except at Zante and 
Chalkis, a Jewish settlement is to be found. Benjamin of Tudela, 
the Jewish traveller, mentions only one of his co-religionists as settled 
there in the twelfth century, and they did not become important till 
the Angevin period, during which numerous appeals for toleration 
were made by successive sovereigns on their behalf. When the 
island was transferred to Venice, a Jew was one of the envoys sent 
by the inhabitants to make terms with the Doge. Others migrated 

The Paradise of the Pkeeacians. 


comitelled lo live logethur in a separalu part of the city. The 
British abolished the Ghetto, but some ten years ago a strong 
agitation broke out against the Jews, which led to bloodshed and 
recalled on a smaller scale the Corcyrjean civil war in the days of 
Thucydides, Greeks and Jews rarely love each other ; perhaps the 
competition between them is too keen. Besides these obvious 
elements in the population of the island, which amounted to 90,872 
at the last census, or 16,411 more than in the year of the union, there 
are others which might escape observation. We have already men- 
tioned the colony from Parga ; about a quarter of a century ago 
another band of refugees from Epiros came and settled at Kastrides, 
where they may still be seen pursuing their daily avocations. One 
Corfiote village, Kanalion Arvanitikin, is the home of the exiles 
from Suli, and Albanian is still talked there. More curious still, 
the suburb of Stratid preserves the name of those Stradiote or Greek 
light horsemen in the Venetian service, who formed the garrisons of 
Nauplia and Monemvasfa, and who were awarded lands here when, 
in 1540, Venice ceded those two last of her Peloponnesian fortresses 
to the Turk. The hamlet of Enetfa on the slopes of Pantokritor is 
iialurally of Venetian foundation also. 

In recent times there is no spot in the whole island that has 
attracted more attention abroad than the splendid villa which the 
late Empress of Austria caused to be erected near Gastoitri. She 
had long been in love with Corffi, which she declared to be " the 
fairest isbiid of the world " ; and, during a visit to Mon Rtpos, she 
sent a trusty emissary to find her a site for a villa. He chose the 
place where the Achilleion now stands, and where a Greek had 
already erected a small summer pleasaunce. While her new home 
was being built the Empress lived in what is now the Intendant's ' 
house. I'he name of Elisa1>etta was first conferred upon the villa 
by its imperial owner, which was changed to that of Achflleion after 
the arri^'al of the famous statue of the wounded Achilles, which now 
stands in the garden. The cost of transporting it from Berlin 
amounted to 10,000 francs, and, by a clause in the contract which 
reminds one of Mummius at Corinth, the senders were bound to 
provide a new statue in case of accident. No such contingency, 
however, took place ; the statue arrived wrapped up in swaddling 
bands till it was thrice its size, and the most graceful of Greek heroes 
looked like a victim of elephantiasis. But the statue is not the only 
homage paid by the Empress to Achilles. Inside the villa, over the 
staircase which was reserved for her use atone, is a huge fresco of the 
relentless warrior dragging the body of Hector round the walls of 

52 Tfu GentUman's Magazine. 

Troy. Greeks of a very difier^t type — Sophocles, Euripides, and 
Demosthenes among them— are represented by busts placed in a 
portico of the villa, nith one Englishman — Shakespeare — in their 
august company. Yet, costly and magnificent as it is, the Achflleion, 
with its Foittpeian and Byiantine rooms, its electric Ught issuing in 
imaginary soap-bubbles from the mouths of cherubs, and its excellent 
stables, can scarcely have been a commodious residence. The 
dining-room, the smoking-room, the oratory containing three solitary 
chairs, an inu^ of the Madonrm de la Garde at Marseilles, a fresco 
of Christ before Pilate, and a picture over the altar of the Stella del 
Mare — that is all that the visitor sees within. Yet, even in its 
present dismantled state, there is a touch of pathos about the villa. 
The loyal care of the custodian keeps a light burning on the attar of 
the oratory day and night, and fresh flowers are daily placed there 
by loving hands. It is delightful to hear the old man — an Austrian 
from Trieste — talk of the Empress whose memory he reveres, of the 
Emperor whose person he loves. Seven times in seven successive 
years she came hither for a month, enjoying the daily bathing down 
at her private landing-st^e, and walking constantly over the hills 
and up the mountains. Twice each day she would go down to the 
blue Ionian sea, which she loved with all the warmth of her poetic 
nature, the sea of whose " countless smile " .iSschylus has sung, 
the sea to whose wine-dark face Homer has held the mirror (A his 
noble hexameters. Daily, too, she would go up to the little chapel 
of Hagia Kyriak^ on the eminence above the villa, whence the eye 
can range over every fold in the mountains of Epiros. Sometimes 
she would even walk into Corffi, coming back by steamer, and she 
would talk to the peasants whom she met in their native Greek, 
whose beauties she estimated so justly. And, whenever she walked 

The Paradise of the Phsacians. 


orders that the Archduchess Stephanie was never to be admitted ; 
accordingly, when one day the Archduke Rudolph's widow drove up 
to the gate and asked to see the villa, the director was constrained to 
hide himself while the Archduchess was told Ihat he was away at 
Athens and that during his absence no one could be allowed to enter. 
After the Empress's death, however, her daughter-in-law came again, 
and gratified her curiosity by inspecting the place. Two years ago 
her daughter, the Archduchess Ehsabeth, with her husband,Prince 
\Vindischgratz, devoted a day of their honeymoon to the Achilleion, 
and the Greek royal family usually visits it whenever the Court is at 
Mon Repoi. The grounds, with their superb views over the town of 
Corfi"i, the sea, the island of Pondikonisi, and the coast of Epiros, 
are a dream of delight. But art has been called in to assist nature 
in the true Wittelsbach fashion ; an artificial grotto and a lovely 
pergola have been constructed, the former in doubtful taste. But 
the natural beauty of the situation needed no artificial adornment, 
Down near the sea, her favourite spot, the Empress set up the statue 
of her favourite poet Heine. The sculptor has represented htm 
sitting in a sad and pensive attitude, with a pencil in one hand and 
a sheet of paper in the other. On the leaves are the words from 
Die ffitmkehr, no doubt chosen by the Empress herself : 

Wu will die cinskme Thianc ? 
Sic trflbt mit ja den Bttck, 

Sic blieb aus alten Zeil«n 

Yet, in spite of all the delights of the Achflleion, the Imperial 
owner soon grew tired of her stay. In 1897, the year of the Greco- 
Turkish war, she wrote from Cap Sl.-Martin ordering the furniture 
to be sent away. No fewer than five hundred cases were packed and 
despatched to Vienna; but a few still remained till two years ago, 
when one of the Archduchesses commanded their removal. Vet, 
even in its present desolate condition, the villa and the grounds cost 
20,000 francs a year to maintain, and six gardeners are always at 
work in the garden. Loyal to the memory of his wife, the Emperor 
pays this sum out of his privy purse, and he has declined to sell the 
property except for a philanthropic object. One day, perhaps, the 
villa may become a hospital or a sanatorium ; but, wh.ttever its 
ultimate fate, it will always serve to keep alive the association of its 
unhappy but talented builder with her Ionian home. 

The neighbouring village of Lower (Kiim) Gastoiiri also has a 
memorial of the Empress. Outside that hamlet is a famous fountain, 

54 The Gentleman's Magasine. 

overshadowed by two huge plane trees, which have given to the 
spring its popular name of Pldtanos. Hither, about six in the evening, 
come the women of the vilU^ celebrated above all others in Corfb 
for their beauty, carrying pitchers on their heads, like the Caryatides 
of old legend with their Imskets. Struck by the rare grace of one 
peasant maiden, a rich lady from Paris oBered to take her with her ; 
bat the girl wisely preferred the simple delights of Gastodri to the 
glitter of la ViUt Zumiire, and the offer was declined. Hither the 
Empress would often com^ and noticing that the ground near the 
fountain became a swamp after the women had been drawii^ their 
water, she erected a stone platform round the well, on which they 
now stand. In remembrance of this act the fountain now bears the 
name of Ilipnj ktrroKpartipiK 'EXuro/Srr ("Spring of the Empress 
Elisabeth "). It is at this spot that a curious Corfiote custom may 
best be studied. As soon as a peasant girl is betrothed she wears a 
vast mass of false hair padded out at the side of her face and braided 
with strips of red material. The hair thus used goes down from 
generation to generation, and is so worn all through married life. 
In this island, too, each vill:^ has its own costume, just as in 
different villages one notices a very different type of features. But 
once a girl marries into another vill^e, she adopts its costume. In 
the country districts, too, Greek is almost exclusively spoken, for , 
they have been at all times comparatively &ee from the foreign 
influences which have moulded the life of the town. The dangers 
of the villagers would seem rather to have proceeded from those of 
their own household. " O God, protect me from my friends ; I can 
protect myself from my enemies " — so runs the significant Greek 
inscription over the inn at GastotM. 

The Paradise of the Phaacians. 55 

were busily engaged in roasting lambs in rows upon spits of wood in 
the customary Greek fashion ; weird figures of coloured pastry — men 
cm horseback and women with gigantic ruffles — were the spedality of 
the booths ; and ginger-beer, a survival of the British protectorate, 
was in great demand. The sea was covered with the white sails and 
awnings of the pleasure-boats from the '' Theot6kes steps " or firom 
''the Ditch ''on their way to the festival, while the old fortress 
stood out in the water and the June sun had not yet melted the 
snows on the highest Albanian mountains. Presently gorgeously 
dressed peasant women began to arrive, some with boleros of red or 
black and gold, and lace veils ; one with a red fez and a long 
golden tassel hanging from it; another supporting a row of huge 
silver balls on the front of her jacket, a pair of enormous gold ear- 
rings, and an orange veil. Scattered about were a few petticoated 
Greek riflemen, or ei^cDvoc, in their picturesque national costume, 
which is all the more becoming when those fine fellows have dis- 
carded their winter coats and appear in all the glory of their under 
garments. A priest from the country with his wife completed the 
picture slich as no country but Greece can show. Corfiote society 
rather looks down upon Andlipsis, and considers it no longer good 
form to go thither. But to us the native costumes and customs are 
more interesting than the European clothes and el^ant manners of 
the upper classes. The dances of the men beneath the olive-trees 
at Anilipsis have been handed down from many generations ; and, 
having twice seen the festival in difierent years, I cannot agree that 
it has deteriorated in recent times. 

No visitor to CorfCi will lose the opportunity of visiting Palaio- 
kastrizza. Having seen all the most famous monasteries in Greece, 
I unhesitatingly give my vote for that at Palaiokastrizza as the most 
beautifully situated of them all. The drive thither, through a land 
of mammoth olives across the whole breadth of Corfti, is the most 
delightful in the large repertoire of Corfiote excursions. It was the 
British who made this road, but I fear that the islanders have not 
taken to heart the Greek iambic which our soldiers carved on the 
side of the way : 

(< God helps him who helps himself.') 

Just before we reach the rock on which the monastery stands, a 
beautiful bay invites us to bathe in its clear blue waters, and then we 
dimb up to the hospitable convent. Till comparatively recently the 
monastery, which was rebuilt about 1469 on the site of an earlier 
church founded there under the Despots of Epiros in 1228, was 

56 The Gentietnan's Magazine. 

entered, like those of Met^ora, by a ladder. Over the gate, to which 
the ladder was fixed, there may still be read the inscription : 'H Kupw 
IlopraWa (" Oiir lidy of the Doorway"), 1873 ; but the former 
H^;oumenos pulled down the ladder, and die entrance is now on the 
level. There the £cvo5i>xot, or " host " of the monastery, a genial 
monk of fifty-two years of ag^ bade us welcome, and provided us 
with excellent wine itom the monastic cellars for our luncheon in a 
loggia overlooking the open sea. The situation is ideal. To the west, 
far as the eye can reach, stretches the blue Ionian with its countless 
smiles. On one side of the promontory is the little bay in which 
we have just bathed ; on the other another headland juts out into 
the sea, with a rocky islet beyond it — the last effort of the land to 
conquer the water. On a hill near are the remains of the old fort, 
the Palaiokastrizza, which has given the monastery its nam^ while 
high up to tlie north-west stand the ruins of the castle of Sant' 
Angelo, built to prevent the inroads of Genoese pirates from beyond 
the seas. Inland, on an apparently inaccessible rock, a white spot 
against the blue sky, is the chapel of St. Nicholas. In the monastery 
garden the bees are swarming busily, while in the fields below the 
monks are hard at work. There are fifteen of them in all, and one, 
with whom I had an interesting conversation, has had a curious 
history. This worthy brother, Ag^pios by name, took part, like 
many other Greek monks, as an irregular in the late war. But, as he 
had left a convent in Turkey to fight against the Turks, he could not 
return to his cell there when peace was proclaimed. So he resolved 
to take up his abode at Falaiokastrizza, where I found htm working 
in the fields with his pruning-hook, made, no doubt, of his disused 
sword. His eyes flashed as he spoke of his conflicts by Smolenski'i 
side, and of the many Turks whom he had slain ; and be told me 

The Paradise of the PhcFOcians. 


they say, has done much for educalion in the villages round, and 
whose property is at Dukides, not far off. Here, in the summer, 
Ihey have occasional visitors in their guest-chambers, and here they 
lead their quiet uneventful lives, innocent of learning, planting 
their vines, and chanting their services, till at last they find each his 
place in some quiet God's acre beside the Ionian Sea. 

Inferior only to the excursion to Palaiokastrizza is that to the 
jmss of Pantaleone, whence the north of Corfii may be seen, with the 
Olhonian Islands out at sea, on one of which, remote from the world, 
lives an Englishman, a relic of the British protectorate. A curious 
story attaches to the hamlet of latrof, or " the Doctors," where the 
road branches off. About one hundred and fifty years ago some 
doctors, men of means and benevolence, settled there, and wrought 
astonishing cures on the people of the whole countryside. Their 
fame tias survived their death, and the place is still called after them. 
Nor should the traveller fail to visit the old Venetian arsenal at 
Govino. There, on a lovely summer afternoon, I strolled through the 
long grass which now covers what was once the shipbuilding yard of 
the Republic in the last century of its existence. The strong arches 
of that naval establishment seem impressive even to-day ; but their 
career of usefulness was short. The arsenal, in its present form, was 
not founded till after the great Turkish invasion of 1716, and I 
copied down on the spot two even later dates from the ruined 
buildings hard by. One states laconically :— 



Tliis inscription doubtless preserves the initials of some Venetian 
"captain of the ships," for those ofilicials built all the works at 
Govino, and their desire to immortalise themselves by putting their 
names and escutcheons on the buildings is specially mentioned by the 
French consul Saint-Sauveur at the end of the eighteenth century. 
The other contains the date anno domini mdcclviiii, A dweUing- 
house and a Venetian church are also there ; but it was found that 
the place was feverish, and so, after a road had been built there in 
1790, it was abandoned. The deadly germs are certainly concealed 
Ijcneath a smiling aspect, for the little bay, with the chapel of 
St. Nicholas opposite, is a charming scene ; but beyond the harbour 
of Govino, the Lazzaretto Island, with its while houses, once a Roman 
settlement, and during the Russo-Turkish occupation a century ago the 

58 Tke Geulleman's Magazine. 

military hospital of the Turks, stands ominous and threatening. A 
Venetian ambassador once died and lies buried there. But quaian- 
tine is now iierformed at Great D€los instead of here. Of Benizze, 
nestling among the olives near the sea, at the foot of the hill on 
which the Achflleion stands ; of Pelleka's " specular mount " ; and 
of Sand D^ka, on the slopes of classic Istdne, which placed so 
large a part in Corcyra's civil strife, I would fain say something. But 
the time has come to sail for the mainland, and, like Virgil's hero 
of old, " to lose the castles of the Plueakians below the horizon," as 
we journey over the sea. 





IT is difficult to realise, as we are listening to the stories of our 
parents and grandparents, how a revolution will silently roll by, 
and tn a hundred years take its place inaudibly in history. The 
new model is generally re-cast without a blow, without a sound ; it 
is almost with an incredulous start that we are first aware of the great 
transformation. Perhaps one of the greatest revolutions which have 
token place in the history of England, within the life-time of some 
people most of us have known intimately, is the revolution of our 
Court and nation in the last century. 

It seems incredible, as we read of the manners and of the customs 
in the reigns of George III. and of George IV., to believe that the 
women we are reading about are separated from the middle-aged,of 
our midst by only two generations. 

The history of our land and almost of our limes becomes 
intensely interesting when, as in the case of the present writer, it is 
filled up with little personal memories handed down by the two 

A great many large square sheets of letter paper, written over in 
the pointed writing of that time, are lying before me ; they are letters 
of the celebrated " Joan of Arc " Lady Anne Hamilton, who was one 
of the truest friends of poor Queen Caroline. 

Injudicious, foolish, undignified, as that Queen was, yet as'one 
reads the history of her follies and of her wrongs, the latter to our 
eyes so outweigh the former, that a great burst of sorrow and of in- 
dignation fills our heart and we feel we can cry as a poor man cried 
once in the crowd to her : " God bless you, we will bring your husband 
back to you." 

This the poor Queen repeated long after to Lady Charlotte Bury, 
and the remembrance of tliat spontaneous sympathy brought the tears 
to her eyes. 

6o The GeniUman's Magazine. 

From the fiist days of her life in England to the last, poor Caro- 
line's was a diary of sorrow. 

"I, you know,"" was the victim of mammoti,'' she is said to 
have said. " The Prince of Wales's debts most be paid and poor 
little I'l person was the pretence. Parliament would vote sn^ilies 
for the Heir-Apparent's marriage ; the Kingwould help his little help. 
A Protestant Princess must be found ; they fixed upon the Prince's 
cousin. To tell you God's truth, I always hated it, but to oUige 
my father anything. But the first moment I saw myjuturmd Lady 
Jersey together, I knew how it all was, and I said to m}'self : ' Oh, 
very well.' I took my partit, and so it would have been if — but Oh, 
mine God ! " she added, throwing'up her head, " I could be the slave 
of a man I love, but one whom I love not, and who did not love me, 
impossible — c'tst autre chase" 

Everyone is now familiar with the dreadful marriage scene, how 
the Prince Regent, the First Gentleman in Europe, sta^ered into the 
Chapel to be married, how he hiccupped out his vows, how he called 
for more brandy, how relentlessly he persecuted that poor woman 
who had married him to pay his debts, how later on he treated his 
and her own child, and the last infamous shame which he hurled at 
her at his own Coronation. 

This little paper is not written to record the suffering of Princess 
Charlotte's mother or the evil doings of her father, but as wa 
think of her sad girlhood, one cannot but get side glimpses into 
these two households. The one in its extravagant gilded sins at 
Carlton House, the other in its almost Bohemian state of unroyalty 
at Blackheath. 

Between these two extremes, the Princess Charlotte of England, 
the only child of her unhappy parents, was bandied. 


Princess Charlotte. 6i 

received any affection, and as years rolled by, was it unnatural that 
the warm-hearted generous girl should grow up feeling strongly the 
injuries of her mother ? 

How well one can imagine the poison thai was so cunningly 
administered to the child by the father's favourites. How wickedly 
lies were invented, foolishnesses exaggerated out of all truth, no 
stone was left unturned that could be raked up and hurled at the 
unfortunate Caroline. Still Princess Charlotte's love for her was not 
kilted ; though some people, even the poor mother herself, whose 
bitterest sorrow it was, sometimes felt that it was shaken. 

One would rather believe that as she was powerless to act, it was 
wiser to keep quiet, and that het advisers were right to say she ought 
to wait neutral till the right time dawned. 

" When I am Queen," it is often said she would say, " then 
it shall be different." But "When I am Queen" is exactly 
what the Prince Regent and his mother meant, if they could, to 

One of the Prince's minor sins was his vanity, vanity which ex- 
tended from his shoe-buckle to his daughter. 

It was gall and wormwood to him to see her at the Opera, smiling, 
nodding, bowing to her friends in her artless manner, and to hear 
the loyal loving cheer which always greeted her. She could not drive 
out without the whole populace hurrahing, and in their cry of welcome 
was always the cry of sympathy which met her, as the child of the 

This slight to the First Gentleman in Europe was of course 

The Princess could no longer be held in the State prison she 
was confined in as a child ; no further pretext could be made for 
keeping her from the Drawing Rooms; and, besides all this, Princess 
Charlotte was beginning to show the Court and nation too that the 
Heiress to the Throne was not to be bound in chains, even if the 
chains should be covered in purple and ermine. 

So the wily intriguers of that day, with the wiliest of all 
at their head, invented a plan which was a marvel of all-round 

A good Protestant Prince, such as would be the worthy successor 
to a gay Court, like bis namesake before him (so would history 
repeat itself again), was to be found in the person of the Prince of 

He was to be invited to England carrying a proposal of marriage 
to Princess Charlotte, and a proposal of relief to her father, aa by 


6a The Gentleman's Magazine. 

this marriage his daugluer would of necessity leave her native land, 
and would at the very least retire for so many months in each year 
to her husband's country. 

Out of sight of the English who loved her and whom she loved, 
the nation would not consider her as their idol. She would most 
likely have Orange children and Orange interests, and, above all, the 
alienation from her country would be another mighty weapon of 
defence dragged from her unfortunate mother. 

But the Prince and hia Ministers were not as mighty as they 
deemed themselves, for when their projects were unfolded the clear 
sight of a young girl saw through them, the strong will of a yonng 
^rl overruled them. 

Sign a paper of forced banishment from the England she loved 1 
never ! 

And though Councils, and big dignitaries, Bishops and Royalties 
besought her, the young Princess was as firm as Elizabeth herself 
might have been two hundred years before. 

Then arose a scene with which we are all familiar, a scene of the 
fair-haired impulsive girl flying from her house of bondage, talcing 
refuge in the crowded street of Charing Cross, for the first time in 
her hfe free and unattended, and driving off in a common fly to her 
mother's home in Coonaught Place. 

Here, of course, she was soon followed, but not until the early 
hours of that morning did Princess Charlotte allow hetself to be 
overruled. The chief power in that overthrow of her strong young 
will must have been her exceeding grief at finding the mother she 
had fled to, was urgent for her return. 

Poor child ! then most vividly must she have realised how terribly 
alone she was In the world. 

Princess Charlotte. 


So far this little memoir is pure Iiistory — pure history, and of a 
happier kind, is the later account of our dear Princess's life. One is 
thankful to read of how another and a worthier suitor came for her— 
one whom she and the nation loved and respected, one who would 
not be a tool of her father's to take her from her native land. 

And here, as far as history goes, we pause, for an immense sorrow 
fills our hearts ; the grief which shook the nation then is strong 
enough to shake it still, as we read of the few happy months, of the 
exquisite promise, of its sad ending. The Revolution of a hundred 
years in our Court is so complete that the whispers of those days 
are now boldly set in relief in these, and a story the truth of which 
the writer can vouch for came a little while ago to her, out of a 
workhouse — so curiously can history be hidden in oblivion, 

A friend, still living, though now long past her four score of 
years, told her that some years ago she went to live at Cheltenham, 
and, being anxious to work among the poor, took a district in that 
town. The clergyman of the parish mentioned incidentally that a 
very strange woman named Griffiths lived in two rooms in one of 
the streets she would visit, and thai he would be very glad if she 
could make friends with her, or find out anything about her. He 
had heard she had been a nurse, and was looked upon as a half- 
crazy character. She refused to see him or any one, and never spoke 
to a soul. 

This friend went and asked if she could see Mrs. Griffiths. 

" She is there," the landlady said, pointing to a steep ladder-like 
stairs ; "she won't see you, she sees no one." 

But this good Samaritan mounted the stairs and rapped at the 
door. There was no answer ; she rapped again, there was a slight 
stir as if some one were moving ; she rapped a third time, and then 
the door flew open and an old woman, looking like a witch with her 
while hair hanging round her neck, glared at her. 

" I don't want you, I see no one. You may go away," the angry 
apparition excbimed, and the door was stammed in her face. 

But the extraordinary refusal made the resistance to it greater, 
and the visits were repeated till Mrs. Griffiths, as if tired out, gave 
in, and at last became quite friendly. 

Still there was a curious mystery about the woman, a mystery 
which haunted her visitor ; she saw it in her manner, in her eyes, 
in every line of her face ; it was so marked that one day when 
she went to wish her good by l-, as she was leaviiig Cheltenham 
for a long visit, she could not help saying, " If you have anything on 
your mind thai you feel you would be easier for in telling a fellow 


64 The Gentleman's Magazins. 

creature, wiU you treat me as your friend, and let me share your 
burden?" A look of teiror came into Mrs. Griffiths' eyes, some 
words seemed unspoken on her lips, and then she held out a nigged 

" Yes ! yea I " she cried, and then at the sound of her words the 
hunted wild look came into her fiice again. " Not now," she cried, 
" not now, but some day, oh ! some day I must tell you." 

This visit happened to be a longer one than was expected ; but 
on her return, the maid said a most curious -looking woman, who 
had given her name as " Griffiths," had been twice in a bath-chair 
to the house to leave an urgent message, begging her mistress would 
call at the workhouse without delay, as there was something very 
important to be told her. 

So the next morning, quite early, this friend went to the work* 
house, but there the matron told her of the strange death of Mrs, 
Griffiths, who had died soon after her entrance. 

She was scarcely delirious enough to be called in a delirium, but 
she was incessantly speaking to Lord Liverpool and to Lord Castle- 
reagh, and repeating as if in a confession : 

" I did it I I did it, but the Queen made me do it I put it into 
her gruel, and not into her beef tea ! " 

Her last words were, " I did it, but the Queen made me do it !" 

The Miss Crofts, sisters of the doctor who attended Princess 
Charlotte, lived also in Cheltenham, and when this friend, who 
did not know till then who Mrs. Griffiths was, or even that the 
Princess's nurse was Griffiths, told them this most strange story, 
they cried : 

" Why, she must have been Nurse Griffiths, the Nurse Griffiths 
for whom there were people then hunting heaven and earth ! She 

Princess Charlotte. 65 

was put in the gruel, and that the deed was committed solely because 
she was the unfortunate Caroline's daughter. 

The England of to-day has passed its revolution, but it is strange 
that in its passing an inmate of a workhouse in Gloucestershire 
should have died in a half delirium calling upon Prime Ministers 
and revealing a secret which, if true, makes November 2, 18 17, one 
of the most pathetic days in our history, 


VOL. OCXCVXX. NO. 2083* 

66 The GentUmaiCs Magazitte. 


A HANDSOME man is one of Nature's Triumphs. A beauti* 
ful woman is one of hei Masterpieces I 

The beautiful body owes much of its beauty to the chord of 
gentle curves, modulating and modulated, which go to make up the 

A scraggy man or woman with sharp jaw and pinched nose is 

When, in addition to this, you see the angular shoulders and 
bony breast and straight waist, you turn your gaze elsewhere in search 
of restfulness in form and shape. 

The difference between the unattractive bread-and-butter Miss 
and the fascinating Maiden is largely a question of the curve 
having begun to replace the angle in the latter. In the first the h'ne 
of the body is a straight one, and the line of the limbs as they 
obtrude themselves through the skimpy frock is equally and obtru- 
sively angular. 

But in a few years her turn will have arrived, and Nature's artist 
modeller will have taken the plain girl in hand. 

A little filling out here and a little expanding there, the depositing 
of a few ounces of fat on this surface and the introducing of a mass 

r The Gospel of the Curve. 67 ^| 

The answer is a simple one. However much you may hang ^^ 
clothes upon a stick, it is a stick still, and the line can never compete 
with the curve for fascination. Most people have learned that the 
gross superfluity of fat is repulsive, and the world of charlatans grows ^_ 
rich in selling all sorts of substances, dangerous and harmless, for ^H 
the reduction of obesity. ^H 

The angular people, on the other hand, sorrow for themselves ^H 
with a hopeless sort of repining, and imagine that nothing can be 
done but to hide their misfortune by much clothing and to console 
themselves with the reflection that it is the thin people who live the 
longest ! 

It is quite true that in old age the stores of fat are those which 
are the first to be drawn upon, and " leanness " is a characteristic 
phenomenon of advanced years. 

It is equally true that constitutions which are walery and gross 
in their composition belong usually to that great class of people who 
die young, while those who fill and overfill their span of life are 
those whose limbs are lithe and hardy and whose muscles are 
muscular and not fatty. 

A beautiful old age, however, is as real as a beautiful prime. It is- 
true that then the curves are finer, but the curve is there all the same. 

There is a greater approach to angularity, indeed, but the crude- 
ness of the line is just avoided Jjy the persistence still of a deviation- 
from the straight in those wave curves which once bounded the full 
and well-modelled limbs and trunk. No one then should be 
satisfied to stand like a living clothes-prop or sit like a resting angle 
without a great effort towards the attainment of the more beautifiil 

But how can this be done ? That Is the problem, and it is not 
always an easy one to solve. Each individual has his own idio- 
syncrasy, and no rule of thumb can be laid down such as would 
reduce the artistic skill of the physician to the trade level of the 
factory band. 

There are, however, some general rules which are applicable to 
many people, and which may well form the basis for personal effort 
preliminary to obtaining skilled individual advice. 

The three leading lines of treatment are, to my mind, comprised 
in the words Diet, Exercise, Thought ! 

I oflen say to myself that if I had the control of these three, 
coupled with Time, 1 could transform the world of men and women, 
so that, to a reasonable extent. Health would conquer Disease, 
Happiness oust Sorrow, and Beauiy dethrone Ugliness. 


68 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

It seems a presumptuous claim to make, but I mean when I 
make it to emphasise the immense importance of these three causes, 
and not to claim any dignity for the engine-driver who merely mores 
the levers. 

It must never be forgotten that the material body in which we 
live is built up from the food we eat 

However good the architect may be, he must have suitable 
materials if he wants his Temple Beautiful to be builded aright 

So too of the body the same laws are in force. Shoddy food 
makes a shoddy constitutioo, and just as a punctured tyre soon lets 
the rider down on to the sharp steel of his wheel, so the inflated con- 
stitution pricked by the needle of strain soon loses all its curves and 
leaves only the ugly bones showing beneath<the sunken skin. 

Good, sound food lies at the foundation of the permanent curves 
and if you search the worid over for large classes where the soft skin 
and the lull flesh and the well<moulded forms are found, you will 
always discover that it is those classes who live on the simplest and 
plainest of natural fare who excel in those points of beauty. 

Go to the peasant women of Normandy or Ireland. Travel 
amongst the dark-^elashed maidens of Galway or Tipperaiy. 
Face the brilliant glances of the country girls of Spain, or follow up 
the coy children of the sun beneath the shades of classic Parnassus 
or where the descendants of the great Caesar tend their sheep and 
till their vines. 

In all alike there are the makings of physical beauty and the 
idealisation of every shade of curve. 

And what is their food ? The food of the peasant is much the 
same the world over. 

Grain forms the staple, with tuberous roots and milk and cheese 

The Gospel of the Curve. 


They had enough to eat and plenty of exercise, but they had 
been kept Tor breeding, and were now come to an age when it was 
considered wise to replace ihem by a younger herd. 

It was decided to fatten them up for the market. 

I was much interested, because this herd, with its numerous 
angular members, reminded me in many ways of the people with 
whom I had to deal. 

After three months' treatment by dietary and mental therapeutics 
these lean porcine ladies had become plump and beautiful — all but 
one — and she was proved to be tubercular ! 

Now what was the treatment ? It was summed up in a few 
words : mental rest and physical feeding ! 

All the worries of motherhood were removed, all the excitements 
of jealousy were taken away, all the struggles for competition were 

Life in single sties was reduced to the pleasures of air and shade 
and eating, and to the luxury of doing nothing but potter round ! 

The food was no longer varied, but was studiously monotonous, 
and yet mealtimes were always welcomed, and after a few days the 
craving for variety seemed to have gone. 

Maize meal and sour milk formed the foundation of the curve ! 

So too with human beings. Gruel of fine oats like Robinson's 
groats, made somewhat thin with milk and eaten with toast or rusk, 
is one of the best foods to begin upon. 

A little later, this should be replaced by fine golden maize meal, 
thoroughly well boiled, and eaten with milk and golden or maple 

For some people it Is wise to use malted barley or wheat, and for 
others to make frumenty the basis of the body-feeding process. 

Side by side with the farinacca it is essential to commence with 
some laxative fruits like figs or raisins or prunes, and to provide a 
sufficiency of nerve foods in the fat of milk or of a fine-grade 
olive oil. 

For the proteJds, in addition to the milk that is used it is some- 
times wise to add a little matted lentil flour or finely grated cheese, or 
the yolk of a hard-boiled egg, grated or pounded. 

With gradually increasing quantities of these foods, coupled with 
complete rest of mind, and the usual bodily exercises strictly regu- 
lated and largely replaced by massage, the thin limbs will b^n to 
fill out and the Qaccid skin will begin to be cushioned upon a sub- 
stratum of healthy (at. 

A course of treatment of this sort can sometimes be carried out 

^o The Gentleman's Magazine, 

at home under supervision, bat it is usually wise to go away &om all 
the lesponsibilttiea and mental interests which are grouped round 
home life. 

Before commencing a course of simple feeding it is expedient 
to have a preliminary clearing away of the constitutional waste 
matteis which are found in connection with mixed feeding, and this, 
coupled with a day's fast, gives a keenness to the appetite and 
supplies a zest and a sauce which make the plainest fare attractive. 

The second incident which I referred to above happened to me 
when I was in India. 

I was in a village where the country had been touched with the 
dreadful finger of famine the year before. 

I was struck beyond measure with the picture of angularity that 
I found everywhere. 

Children who ought to have been chubby were maiasmicin their 

Young men and maidens, who ought to have been sleek and 
comely in body and limb, were spare and thin. 

Women and men of older years, who should have been stalwart 
and sturdy, were verging upon emaciation which was painM to con- 

When I remarked upon this to the vill^e doctor, " Wait awhile " 
was his answer, " wait awhile. These poor people have been pulled 
down by a twelvemonth of short commons, and they are thin and 
weakly and debilitated, but so soon as the sugar-cane is ready for 
the crushing mill you will soon see a marvellous change. 

" The spare bodies will plump out The wasted limbs will fill up 
round and firm. The pinched cheeks will become bonny and 
shining again, and everyone will be as happy as the day is long. 

The Gospel of the Curve. 7 1 

rushed and cleaned after every meal, and if this is done, they, like 
the skin, will not only not be injured but will actually improve under 
the treatment. 

^Vhether the farinaceous or the saccharine dietary or a combina- 
tion of the two be relied upon in any case, the value of the onion as 
an occasional addition must not be overlooked. 

Thus shortly would I outline the importance and the general 
method of dietary, and in a few words more, and only very cursorily, 
mtist I deal with Exercise and Thought. 

Exercise must be sufficient, but must be reduced to the limit of 
sufficiency. Passive exercise, in the form of muscle massage, must 
largely replace active exercise, 

II must never, however, be forgotten that to produce a 
permanent fatly deposit, you must exercise the muscle around and 
within the hbres of which the fat is to be deposited. 

It must be a "hard" filling and not a merely " soft " or flabby 
fattening which is to be aimed for. 

Superficial flabby fat may be gained in a month and lost in a 
week ! 

The process of fa I -de positing must be commenced by more or 
less complete rest, but slothful ease is not by any means necessary 
to secure its permanence. 

The fat baby loses a good deal of its soft, blubbery fat when it 
begins to run about, but it retains the harder deposits which are 
connected with the muscle fibres, and these are the deposits which 
make for beauty. 

By means of passive exercises the deposit of the blubber can be 
prevented, and the deposit of the permanent beauty-fat can be 

Ii is not the gospel of fatness which I would preach, but the 
beautiful and permanent cune I 

La.slly, Thought. 7^«A yourself curvilinear, and you will thereby 
help to lose your rectilinear ugliness. 

Few people have any idea of the power of thought. We write 
about it and we dream of its possibilities, but we larely set ourselves 
to the task of utilising this potent force for the attainment of our 

And yet we may do so, if we will. The cells of the body do 
their work under the control of central forces, and these forces are 
largely modified by the accumulated thought of the ages— which we 
call heredity. 

Man has the power of consciousness, and by a concentration of 

72 The Gentlemafis Magazine. 

this consciousnesa he can modify those receptive higher centre^ 
and, to a limited extent, alter the commands which they issue to 
the body-cells, and thus alter the structure which the latter are 
busily engaged in erecting. 

A person whose hereditary tendency is towards emaciation may 
by rightly directed thought-power control this tendency, to the extent 
of postponing its operation for many yean. 

But this needs patience, courage, and scientiGc direction. 

Mentality affects the nerves. The nerves control the blood 
supply. The blood supply affects nutrition. Consciously cultivate 
the curve in face, in body, in limbs. Do not ^t down and moum- 
Ailly groan over your angularity. Stand up and, with faith and hope, 
call forth the forces which will make you beautiful. 





THIS great and ambitious building is admitted by architectural 
critics to be one of the few striking works of the nineteenth 
century. These are not more than half a dozen in number, and 
comprise the Houses of Parliament, by Barry and Pugin — one an 
Irishman, the other a Frenchman or half -Frenchman ; the new 
Police Offices, by Norman Shaw, a Scot ; the noble Waterloo Bridge, 
by Rennie (another Scot), declared by Canova to be worthy of 
the Romans ; London Bridge, with its graceful outlines, also by 
Rennie ; and this Cathedral, by Bentley, who came of a Scots &mily. 
When we add to these designers Robert Adam, deviser of a com- 
plete style of his own, which is now being reyived, and Gibbs, the 
architect of the elegant St. Mary-le-Strand Church, we must own that 
we have serious obligations indeed to the Scottish architect Wren 
in the way of architecture, of course, is a tower of strength, but he is 
very far off, and we have no Wrens nowadays of even smaller 

There has been a shower of praise— a little indiscriminate perhaps 
— ^lavished on the new Cathedral. The architect has been hailed 
as a reformer and innovator, standing high above his fellows. It 
is curious that almost at the same time a new composer — Elgar, 
one of the same faith — his equal in talent, dealing also in monu- 
mental, grandiose effects, should have been acclaimed in the same 
tumultuous fashion. We can heartily admire both these eminent 
artists and their large methods. Yet not all Bentle/s work is of equal 
merit ; there are portions where the effects have not equalled the 
intentions. There have been miscalculations, due perhaps to haste 
and over-enthusiasm. It is, indeed, astonishing that he has been 
so successful, for he was hitherto untried in this particular genre. 
He had of a sudden to repair to foreign countries to study the 
pattern— or what is vulgarly called " get it up." He brought back a 

74 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

store of knowledge which was based on such superficial elements as 
attracted him ; but the principles of cathedral-planning strike far 
deeper down, and truly talce a lifetime to master. We might have 
expected him to be penetrated with the gaunt, rude simplicity of 
the German, Flemish, or Lombardic structures — vast rocks and 
cr^ of crusted brick — geological strata caked together. These 
might have shown him the simpler elemental shapes. But he knew 
that something " showy " was required of him, that was to compel 
wonder and admiration. It would not do to have your building 
talked of as "a bam," however nobly designed. 

A notable surprise has been the speed with which the building 
has been carried to completion. It seems almost incredible that a 
cathedral of such enormous proportions should have actually taken 
less time to complete than an ordinary church, viz. seven or eight 
years. A portion only of Mr. Pearson's Truro Cathedral took several 
years, and is still laboriously plodding on to completion. The Law 
Courts were some twenty years in hand. 

On the whole, our architect seems to have rather missed the 
religious and impressive tone which such a building, designed by 
such a man, should offer to the spectator. There is gaiety about the 
ensemi/e, a *' huUU" as the Americans say, even a sort of festivity. 
The reiterated cupolas are animated and " lay," and hardly impart 
the feeling of solemnity. A grand waste of dark brick, unbroken 
save by the necessary windows — something of the grim and mourn- 
ful impression of St Alban's Abbey — is what we might have expected. 
Instead, we have this scenic and harlequin-like conglomeration. 
Does the first view of it speak to us in any way, or lift up the soal 
devotionally, making us give pause and think, "As all is so impres* 
sive outside, what shall we find within ? " 

The New Cathedral at Westminster. 75 

S in the case of the pointed gables of the transept, nhich, instead of 
being bold and crag-like peaks, are fashioned into two, and thus 

But what the eye misses most is one of those gaunt, grim, melon- 
shaped domes which we find at Frankfurt or Mainz, and which is 
wanting to " lift " aloft, as it were, the whole. This want presses 
itself on the spectator from whatever direction he gaies. Odd to 
say, the architect has left, as it were, a crying reminder of this want 
— a regular base or foundation for such a dome, which, as it were, 
clamours to be built upon. The spectator standing in Morpeth 
Terrace, on a line with the sanctuary dome, will note this base, fortified 
by buttresses. One would have thought that these buttresses were 
intended to resist the " thrust " of the dome. But they do no such 
work — on the contrary, they lean or recline upon iL Were such a 
dome supplied, outlined in sections, it would give a character to 
the whole. It might be of timber with a zinc casing, and this would 
entail but small outlay. True, it would be but a "sham" dome, 
without an interior, but so are most domes. It is not generally 
known that the outside dome of St, Paul's is the third covering, 
there being two beneath it. The inner one does not correspond 
with the outer, there being a long conical funnel between, which 
carries the huge cupola. 

And this brings us to the campanile, or St. Edward's Tower, 
which, for a structure of such height (280 feet) and importance, seems 
to have surprisingly little effect. All who saw the large model, I am 
certain, must have been struck with its comparative ineffectiveness, 
and there was during its erection the constant and oft-repeated 
suggestion of "the factory chimney" — a vulgar idea, but really 
irresistible. This weakness is owing to its being altogether too 
lean for its purpose, whatever it may be. A solid tower— much 
shorter and solid, "four-square "—would be more in keeping. 
Then, the eternal stripes, ruled across in pink and white, check the 
progress of the eye aloft and divert it. We should expect something 
grave, solemn, and threatening. The head, too, and its treatment 
seem unimpressive and trivial. There is too much deuil, after 
such an extreme elevation. At a distance the ornamentation is 
completely lost, and it seems a mere rounded top. Seen from 
Piccadilly it offers a very " poorish " air, and the factory chimney 
once more begins to disturb us. The belfries in Uelgium, which 
belong to all periods, might have furnished the architect with many 
models for bold and conspicuous treatment of the bead, which 
should be ugaificant] This we cannot mistake in a Belgian towei. 

76 Tke Gentleman's Magasine. 

Looking from Piccadilly no one, I say, would sui^iose that it was 
intended to hold a bell. 

It is, however, only fair to consider that there will be do distant 
view of the whole extent of the building, such as is obtiuned now 
from Morpeth Tenace, for it will by and by be shut out by buildings ; 
while on the other side, in Ashley Place, we can get a good view only 
by standing close beneath iL And it may be said that the view 
from the bottom of the road, beginning with Archbishop's House, 
taking in the recessed portions of the building, the curves and apse, 
the whole closed by the campanile, is very striking indeed. When 
all has been well darkened, stained by wintry gales and rains — duly 
"weathered," in fact — the effect will be fine and veiy harmonious. 
There have been comparisons of dimensions with those of St. Paul's 
and othei great buildings ; but in respect of the campanile and 
dome, St. Paul's counts 403 feet to the top of the cross, so it is 
some 90 feet or so higher than the campanile, which is some 380 feet 

Again, in the ordinary Italian campaniles there is much expresucHii 
owing to the well-marked division of stories, each having a window 
and ornaments for itself. This formation has a sort of dmmatic 
meaning — it suggests habitation and use. The campanile is usually 
not much higher than a common church steeple, for the reason that 
its purpose is to hold a bell, and a bell that can be easily rung. A 
bell hung nearly three hundred feet in the air would be difficult, 
perhaps impossible, for the ringer to pull or to sound. The beauty 
of these antique campaniles, as can be seen in Mr. Street's book, is 
that they are r^lar buildings, towers perhaps, and assert themselves 
as such ; but this erection is too loffy and too attenuated to pass as 
a tower. The architect, however, may have intended it as a sign ot 


The New Cathedral at Weslviinsler. 77 

vitality to ihe whole scheme. There used to be such a brick lower 
for the old church at Ostend, from which used to issue the solemn, 
booming sounds of its bell. Indeed, the belfry always takes, or 
should take, a serious, practical part in the social life. But this 
rather " lanky " structure, it is to be feared, will do nothing but 
" look on." 

If we compare it with the Clock Tower at Westminster, we shall 
find what a personality the latter has. It attracts and commands 
attention at once, both near and far, owing to the "character" 
infused into the clock head, which the rest of the tower is made to 
carry. Though this tower is 320 feet high, it, curious to say, looks 
shorter than the Westminster tower. This is owing to the excessive 
thinness of the Cathedral lower. A few feet more in its width 
would have made a vast difference— but, it will be answered, also 
a vast difference in the expense. One would like to have been in 
the architect's mind when he was devising his plan. He could 
hardly have intended that it should thus rise up like a huge spike or 
sign, without any real connection with the buildings of which it is 
supposed to be part. Yet nothing can be more emphasised than the 
divorce of the two. The more we consider its design, the more we 
see the " hesitancy" of the author's plans. The Mainz Dom seems 
to supply the true line— that is, great beetling, solid brick towers al 
the corners, with cowl-like canopies. 

Much praise has been bestowed on the richly elaborate frontal, 
or entrance — the grand, absorbing arch, which, it is claimed, is larger 
than that of St. Mark's. Yet, with all wish to admire, the effect must 
be considered rather scenic than imposing, from the multiplicity and 
confusion of detail. The outlines do not stand out with clear solidity. 
The recession, with its steps and stages, of the upper portion makes 
the whole appear poor and scattered. How much better the effect 
had the solid wall been carried straight upwards on the top of the 
broad arch to its fullest height ; the same with the towers and cupolas 
at the side. This treatment had been grand and impressive. Now 
the effect is as of something unfinished ot imperfect. The shallow- 
ness in the broad arch of the entrance strikes us forcibly, as one would 
expect it to offer a sort of sheltering, cavernous recess for the door- 
way itself. The arch, however, is so "chamfered" off, as it is 
called, that the door seems but little below the level of the whole. 
Again, an arch of such faint pretensions cannot assert itself pro- 
perly, as the necessary incidents expected from an arch arc absent — 
that is, evidence of support and shelter. It may have been, however, 
that the question of " Ancient Lights " imposed this recession as 

78 Th* GetUUman's Magazine. 

a necessity. As the stripes of stone and brick are in great evidence 
heie, with the result of a lack of homogeneousness and an air of 
general disintegration, all these details — cupolas, mouldings, arches — 
become multiplied by adding this element of alternate pink and 
white stripes. The depth of this huge arch is not more than five or 
six feet — too shallow a recession for so pretentious a sweep. All 
its lateral supports are light and trifling— the columns slight, with 
open spaces behind them. The full efiect, however, can hardly be 
judged at present; not, certainly, until the proper railings and 
enclosures have been arranged, when we shall be able to see the 
whole, from the ground upwards. Nor can we commend the rows of 
pendant medallions, showing profiles of Doctors of the Church, 
which are suspended from the slight column by simulated ribbons 
of stone quite unequal to the weight 

In the matter of the colour of brick, it is sad to think how 
the good old rubicund, enlivening tones have " gone out." Often 
when the streets are being opened we see turned up fragments of 
good old caked brick, bright, hard, cheerful What has become of 
this honest material ? As we walk through Brickland proper, i.e. the 
Cadc^an district, the brick shows a sort of dark mud colour, with 
here and there a genuine red, but the prevailing tone is this well- 
grimed earthy colour. The old Queen Anne work sfaines out to-day 
as brilliantly as at first, only it has gained a beautiful mellowness. 
Our modem stuff grows darker and more colourless every year, 
and seems to absorb dirt with a sort of relish. Can it be that the 
manufacturers adulterate, as every other article is adulterated, and 
mix inferior clay, mud, and the like? 

There is this danger from the multiplicity of brick detail — recesses 
projections, cavities, mouldings, &c — that they are sure to become 

The New Cathedral at WestminsteK 79 

Now, here this vast arch has literally no work to do, and supports 
nothing ; there is no vast monumental structure laid upon its 
shoulders, soaring upwards, no massive wall— there is just a course 
or so of brickwork. The whole apparent display of strength 
in this front is merely scenic, and the grand arch a bit of shallow 
ornament. By measurement its depth is only five or six feet from 
the wall. The arch itself is hardly sunk in the wall, rather /aid on it 
Indeed, all this approach to the entrance seems rather " fussy " and 
disturbed. Superficial arches — outlined rather than cut deeply — 
scarcely count. This putposelessness, 1 believe, accounts for the 
lack of effect and impressiveness— with, also, a certain want of bold 
and assertive distinctness, which would have been left had there been 
a superstructure such as 1 have described. 

Many of these misconceptions must have struck the architect 
himself when he saw his work in shape, and when it was all too late 
to remedy them. It was unfortunate for him as well as for his sup- 
porters that too great faith had been placed in him— that he had 
sprung forth ready armed and equipped for cathedral building, 
whereas this had been his first and only experiment. It had been 
belter that his designs had been canvassed and criticised and 
amended; but his patron. Cardinal Vaughan, believed in him 
thoroughly and devoutly, and gave him "the freest hand," 

Another superfluity seems to be the square towers, each capped 
with a peaked roof, which flank the transept gable. These have 
no significance or purpose, do nothing, and give no support. As 
every erection of the kind connected with a building is garnished 
with a circular cupola, large or small, we may wonder why these 
were fitted with this angular head. 

The mistake of exhibiting an idle arch that does no work is 
repeated in a rather singular way, which amounts to an architectural 
mistake, in the exterior treatment of the Sanctuary dome. Here 
we find the bold contour of a large lunette window flanking it on 
each side, without any structure resting upon it ! We cannot call 
to mind any instance of an arched window of this kind forming 
the apex, as it were, of a building. We should also expect for the 
sake of symmetry that this " motive " would have been repeated at 
the back, and thus the dome would seem to be supported by three 
solidly ftamed lunettes. Instead, however, the back is treated with 
a Bat surface — and a number of new details. The effect of these 
odd lunettes is that they seem to have been left unfinished, and 
we expect that presently some sort of wall will be raised upon 
them. Add to this the other expectation, of a I'ome upon the ready 


8o The GentUtnaiis Magazine. 

prepared base, and we shall find ourselves in a lather confused state, 
I am certain, indeed, that any skilled architect will be struck by the 
uncertainty and incoherence of the " sky-line," as it is called, which 
rambles about and betokens no decided purpose or arrangement. 

Still, it must be said that the unprepared spectator, coming oa 
the vast building at the end of Morpeth Terrace, and contemplatiag 
the full view of the whole, with the apse and its supporting cupolas, 
the eye being carried on to the campanile, will be impressed by tbe 
clustered air of the whole and the many significant elements. But 
as he gazes his correct sense will be disturbed. 

The apse, indeed, is rather disappointing — it is so small and 
slight ; and what effect it has b " frittered " away by the range erf 
little arches and other objectless things. We know the grand effect 
in the old basilicas of the plain apse, bulging forth in a grand 
crescent, and claiming fullest notice. All profuse and random 
ornamentation is antagonistic to the simple, solemn lines. 

The apse is always made a striking monumental thing in building! 
of this class. You can always note it from afar — its grand protuberance 
impresses. But here our architect has weakened and attenuated it 
as of set purpose. The spherical dome is strangely shaped into a 
conical roof and a trifling sort of colonnade is seen below it Nothii^ 
is conveyed of what is within. 

Tbe Archbishop's house, which joins to make up a striking group 
of buildings, b rather unattractive. There the architect seems to 
have shown little sense of novelty or feeling. It may be said, how- 
ever, that such is not needed in a semi-monastic edifice. Looking 
at its front, we notice an odd architectural caprice, for there rises 
what seems a four-square tower, but on turning the comer we find 
that it becomes portion of a continuous front of the dwelling-house. 

The Neio Cathedral at Westminster. 8t 

but praises of a most exuberant kind. The most uncultured person 
that wanders through its aisles is awed and overwhelmed by this, 
perhaps his first acquaintance with the sense of vast and unbounded 
spaciousness, regulated by the truest feeling of proportion. The 
artistic enjoyment from surveying the Cathedral interior is derived 
from what Dr. Johnson would cali the " noble amphtude of space " 
displayed at every turn. How grandly overpowering, for instance, is 
the great wail at the bottom, rising up so solemnly until lost aloft in 
the mistiness of the roof ! The laying out of this grand wall that 
closes the bottom of the fane is well worth studying as a method 
of disposing a series of arches for effect. Here is the stately 
gallery, supported on open arches and columns. From that 
rise upwards the long arched windows ; after them the crowning 
lunette window ; while all is within the vast and deeply embayed 
arch, which encloses all, and starts from the floor, and turns iis 
curve aloft in the clouds. We may wander round and round again, 
and always find something to surprise. And here is revealed what 
a fine, impressive medium is the solid concrete, always second only 
to stone, used plentifully for all the covering portions. It is 
dignified and solemn in its monumental effect. There is nothing 
finer anywhere, or more suited to excite the feeling of a noble large- 
ness and spaciousness, than the series of piers which spread away 
down the nave, then soar aloft till they bend round into stately, sweep- 
ing arches, subdivided by smaller ones. The depth of these arches 
is remarkable. The piers are gigantic ; the more we ga/e on them 
the larger they seem. Their lines are grandly simple. They rest 
their claims to impressiveness on nothing but their size and form. 
It has been said that the coarse native brick thus left exposed 
adds to this tone of grand simplicity. This was, moreover, done of 
set purpose, space being left open between each course of bricks so 
as to supply a good " bite" for the marbles with which all is hereafter 
to be clothed. In this connection we note the sort of gallery that 
fills the spaces between, resting on a series of double arches and 
monoliths. This arrangement somewhat impairs the effect of the 
piers and their great arches ; for the gallery is not part of the 
construction and its main lines, but is introduced to fill in the space 
between the piers and mark the division between the aisles. It is. 
therefore, somewhat superficial ; were it away we should have the 
grand arches and piers of the nave running to the ground without 
interruption. If the necessity of such a gallery be pleaded, it seems 
of too light a character to need arches and monoliths to support it. 
VOL. ccxcvii. NO. 3083. c 

82 Tk4 Gentleman's Magazine. 

No doubt, however, it is a pleasii^ detail, and attenuates the g< 
grimness and gauntness. 

It may be that so fine a monument of brickwork, laid so as to 
displajr to the full the natural formation and capacity of brick, has 
not been seen in this country since the old Queen Anne days. There 
is, happily, none of the debasing "pointing." The bricks them- 
selves — save in the interior, where the common stock brick is used- 
are of the tile pattern. One would, however, have preferred the 
honest healthy old red brick, raw and rubicund, to the faint and 
somewhat sickly pink tint 

But allowing atl credit to the " large " effect of this gaunt lack of 
finish, there is a very important matter that has been overlooked — viz. 
the almost certainty that the Cathedral will remain in this bare and 
unfurnished sute for a century or a century and a half, at least. 
For the cost of the painting, mosaic work, and marble veneers irill 
be something incredible, and too stupendous to be encountered. It 
will be said that this can be done by d^rees, and in small portions 
at a time ; but to decorate a small portion even of the roof would 
need a scaffolding of such height and strength as would make a large 
part of the outlay. This could not be renewed with every small por- 
tion. Even if a portion were completed, the contrast with the raw, 
bare remnant would grow more marked and become more uopleasaot 
every day. Then, the cost of mosaic work is ahnost appalling and 
the time it takes enormous. The few feet of mosaic that covers the 
wall behind the altar at Farm Street—making two pictures of moderate 
dimensions — cost, I recollect, some eight hundred pounds. The Dean 
and Chapter of St. Paul's must Iiave paid enormous sums for Sir W. 
Richmond's experiments. 

A very noble impression is left by the disposition of the vast 
.ind stalely transepts. It is rarely that we see a transept divided 

The New Cathedral at Westminster. 83 

In DO direction has the architect displayed more fancy and 
propriety than in the disposition of his windows. It was a great 
experiment, this disposition of the amount of light, and he has 
shown science and tact in soUing the problem. There can be no 
question that his success has been complete and the light perfect. 
The variety in the forms and patterns of the windows, while admirably 
structuia! and canying out the architectural arrangement, shows also 
much fancy. AVe see the range of lunette-shaped openings at the 
top, with their pleasing detail and network of terra-colta, with the 
two long arched windows underneath. These lunettes have a 
singular emphasis for their size. One might object, however, to the 
thick stone uprights which divide each window into three portions. 
Such supports are needless where there is an arch, which contains all 
the supporting strength necessary. There is a fine ungatnliness, too, 
in the openings pierced in the curved concrete where the long 
windows follow the bend of the arched roof. There is often an 
awkward device of sections of arches, so as to maintain the lines of 
the window upright. The small windows in the far-off dome have 
exceeding character and draw the eye. We may praise also the 
happy patterns of the "leading" and the delicate greenish tinting of 
the glass. 

How strange is that penchant which seizes on man for disfiguring 
or "uglifying" his own choicest work. Hung from the roof we 
see a gigantic cross thirty feet high, floating in the enclosed and 
mystic space of the domes. This dominates the whole and becomes 
the central note, meeting our eyes wherever we stand. The least 
skilled observer must feel that it is out of key and out of proportion 
with all its surroundings. It throws everything, as it were, out of 
gear, and dwarfs everything, near and far off. For the spectator 
must always assume that it is of the proportions of an ordinary cross, 
and the scale of all round it thus becomes dwindled. There is an 
exactly similar mistake in the balustrade round the dome of St. 
Paul's, which Wren has magnified to double ihe usual height, 
making it some twelve or more feet high. In imagination we supply 
it human figure to lean upon it, which must be of the ordinary height, 
and thus dwindle down the dome in the same measure. So, on the 
same principle, the vast amplitude of the Westminster domes within 
becomes shrunk and contracted. Their immeasurable immensity is 
brought to a tangible scale, the general indistinctness and the idea of 
domical space without bounds vanish, because here we have a fixed, 
su^>ended object with which to compare them. Not that the idea 
of a suspended cross is unsuitable. It has something significant and 




84 • The GentUmatii MagazUu. 

picturesque &nd devotional ; but theie is a fittiDg scale of sizes which 
an architect could work out secundum artem, and which would be 
exactly suited to its environment. By this arrangement the whole 
misty regions of the domes, with their suggestions of rolling spaces, 
are turned into a background or " setting " for this mammoth cross. 

It may be, however, fairly pleaded for this gigantic object that 
we must watt for the proper conditions to see the full effect We 
should call up in imagination the encompassing dome, glowing with 
tinted figures in rich but subdued colours, the deep golden tints, the 
softened blues of the empyrean. With these the lines of the richly 
gilt and decorated cross will blend and be absorbed, and not, as now, 
be contrasted with mere raw concrete and bricks, and made to stand 
out. But for this we must wait patiently a hundred years at least, 
and all the while have our eyes drawn to this uglifying spectacle. 
Of course, time will do something in mollifying the glare of its tints, 

Mr. Sargent, the eminent artist, who is much interested in de»gns 
of the Crucifixion, is said to have suggested a blue line running round 
the red ground ; and it must be said that the result is not happy. The 
scheme of colour seems disturbed. One allows much for mediaeval 
anatomy, but the arms of the sacred figure on the cross are strange 
distortions. With a good eye for measurement one can see that 
these arms, if placed by the side, would touch the knees ! 

A great cathedral of this pattern requires to be " lived up to^" 
and to have all the associations si^^gested on a grand and cw- 
responding scale. All praise must be given to the antique music, 
the stately struns of Palestrina and other masters ; but more, certainly, 
could be done with the organ, a large and fine one. The organ, 
after the breath of prayer, is the very soul of the cathedral and its 
articulate voice. We expect, therefore, the grand and swellit^ strains, 

The New Cathedral at Westminster. 85 

completed, owing to the devotion and generosity of the faithful. A 
great fane thus fringed round by decorative tabernacles offers a sort 
of challenge to its frequenters to proceed in the same course, and in 
a sort of '' nibbling ^ way the ornamentation is likely to go on. The 
sanctuary, which is partially done, will, likely enough, next claim to 
be taken in hand Some pious Croesus within the next twenty years 
is likely to be found to line the hemicycle of the apse with marbles 
and mosaics. But after that, as we fancy, there will come a check. 
On the whole, it is likely that the decorations will grow in this 
fashion from without towards within. 

The new system of mosaic introduced by Sir W. Richmond 
seems to have been adopted in these Westminster chapels. The 
result has certainly more glitter than the old smooth cubes of glass. 
This new treatment might be called the "sugar-stick method," for the 
work has certainly a bright and rather " sticky " aspect It partakes 
of scene-painting : it dazzles with that sheen which seems to enter 
into all modem decoration. The old mosaic was more formal and 
classical, if tamer and more subdued in tone. In St Mark's, Venice, 
it S& said that there are nearly 50,000 square feet of mosaic work. 

It is proof of Bentley*s "architectural propriety " that he declined 
to adopt for his windows the deep rich colouring and showy tints 
of painted glass. It was tempting enough, and would have gained 
the suffrage of the ignorant crowd. Instead, he gave us a flood 
of white silvery light, pure and undefiled, passing through faint and 
delicate tints of pale green. Few now think how almost hopeless is 
the condition of painted glass, and how misunderstood its principles 
are ; but the real objection is little thought of, viz. the transi- 
toriness of the colours. The art of permanently fixing these seems 
lost. Anyone who carefully considers the work done some twenty 
or thirty years ago will see how dull and faded it has become — how 
the lighter tints have either fled altogether or become " flat " and 
insipid. All those gorgeous bursts of Bume- Jones and others will 
by and by dissolve away like the "cloud-capped towers," and, though 
leaving a streak or so behind, will have become utterly ineffective, 
like all faded things. The false system of painting faces and figures 
on the glass as if on canvas is also accountable. We should follow 
the old impressionist method of putting fragments together like a 
mosaic or the combinations in a kaleidoscope. And yet, such is the 
incertitude of the times and public taste, that it may be by and by 
some rich " benefactor " will offer to the Cathedral as a memorial 
of a defunct relative some huge window, " richly dight," which may 
be accepted without thought or scruple. 

86 The Gentkmatis Magazini. 

The rather economical method of veneering, as it were, marbles 
on a bricic Ijackground, however showy and convenient, has always 
seemed a " cheap device " and something of a makeshift There 
is always a sort of tell-tale surface or something in the setting that 
betrays the device. I fancy it is that the thin sheets bend and warp, 
and do not lie close. It seems also that with time these veneets diy 
up and lose their sap, and acquire a shabby look. The ricbnen of 
colour fades away. This is not likely in the case of great solid 
blocks. At the Farm Street Church the marbles tn the sanctuary seem 
affected in this fashion. All shams have drawbacks of some kind, 
and are certain to be found out Then, there are the associations 
— very potent When we find these marble veneers profusely tued 
in clubs and hotels, large expanses, palatial marble halls, we are not 
impressed, knowing that they are only films of marble sawn by the 

The marbles in the sanctuary galleries might have been combined 
more harmoniously. Thus, dark green, diamond-shaped slabs and 
the Indian-red panels make a somewhat uncongenial contrast ; with 
the effect that the other tints, so faint and delicate, are extinguished. 
The colours are too deep and strong for their white background. 
The marbles in the Brampton Chapel are not happily contrasted — 
the green over the altar is disturbing — as are the white marbles under 
the windows. 

As the Cathedral is destined to be in daily use and work for a 
century and more without change, it has to be considered how it can 
be made habitable and provisionaUy furnished for at least a century 
or so. The true method, I believe, would have been to plaster 
it over from end to end ; or at least to have coloured its domes and 
walls white or yellow, as is done in French and Bdgian great 

The New Cathedral at IVeslminskr. 87 

the delicate tints of the lieauiiful marble colonnades — which are 
utterly killed by these adjuncts — is inconceivable. In the adjoin- 
ing chapel on the left, lined throughout with lovely marbles in 
delicate yellow shades, these flaming red draperies have been intro- 
duced, with overpowering effect. The floor is covered with green 
baize, which seems the favourite matting. Green baize carpeting 
when matched with other green* baize hangings no doubt pro- 
duces a certain uniformity, but it is hardly artistic treatment. Even 
in the rudest attempts at ornamentation, or the perfunctory sub- 
stitute for ornamentation, there should be a sort of homogeneousness. 
Gaudy stuffs and tinsel do not hide, but only set forth with more 
emphasis, the bareness and nakedness of other portions. Even a 
bam, if left to itself — to its rude supporting beams and joists — has a 
dignity of its own, which is quite lost when you introduce coloured 
calico and the like. 

The proper scheme for the temporary furnishing and decoration, 
as it may be styled, should be based on an " oak motive," or, if that 
be fouod too costly, on stained woods. The abundant and cheap 
Belgian carving is available ; witness the effective doors and very 
striking oaken furniture of the library at Archbishop's House. The 
Belgian craftsman is, in this kind of work, to the very manner bom : 
he has inherited the traditions, he works in his material after a sort 
of instinct, and with a graceful, free, and flowing touch. Instead 
of the green baize partition raised behind the altar, there should 
be a well-panelled partition of the stained wood ; while the parapet 
between the sanctuary and nave should have a bold architectural 
balustrade. The benches, too, should be artistic. There is no 
human necessity or law that canons should sit on green baize. 
Panelling of stained wood, even, might be fitted on the wall behind 
the pulpit. It is obvious that this panelling would harmonise better 
with the rude brickwork, and add to the natural dignity of the 
Cathedral, which these crude attempts at coloured decoration impair. 

The style of the various accessories placed already in the 
Cathedral — the Archbishop's throne, the pulpit and the font — rich 
and costly as they are, seems to have been rather misconceived. 
The lines are too refined and delicate for the monumental character 
of the structure. For a pulpit we should have expected rather a 
solid, roomy loggia, a structure, in fact, with bold, well-marked-out 
lines and little decoration. This pulpit is meagre and mesquin in 
its treatment, the lines are poor and "spiky," and the decoration 
quite Italian. This inlaying of bits of gold and mosaic within com< 
ptrtments of the solid marble has but a poor effect. The Archbishop's 





88 TAe Gentleman's Magasine. 

chair, we are told, is modelled after that of His Holiness ; but it is 
again too Italian in character, and is, therefore, discordant in coatnut 
vith the Byzantine colonnade behind it Yet it ha> been thought 
necessary to garnish it|with an immense flaming red canopy, which 
kills whatever dnts the chair offers. The same objections apply to 
the great font in the Baptistery. 

The beautiful monolith columns which, disposed in pairs, set off 
the nave are worthy of stady, and excite a never-failing dramatic 
interest The rare, exquisite beauty of the marble, the wonderful 
tints and the fanciful carvings of capitals, the subtlety of their tntasis, 
appeal wonderfully to the artistic feeling. Few think nowadays of this 
enfasis, or care about it, or notice what a breathing life, and even 
" movement," it imparts to the inert and almost dead column. Who 
thinks that this entasis may turn the architect into a sort of Pygmalion 7 
Who, indeed, knows what ^n/oJiV means ? Instead of a plain, stra^ht 
shaft, of the same dimensions from top to bottom, the artist traces 
some magic sinuous lines or contours, of which he alone has the secret, 
swelling here at the middle or near the base, tapering off ^er so 
delicately near the capital, all according to some mystical code. Each 
column thus treated begins to live, to throb almost, and becomes a 
sentient thing. One might liken such a thing to the aims of a lovely 
woman, graceful and well-proportioned, hanging down by her side, 
full of life and movement. 

The capitals of these most attractive columns are of an exquisite 
and delicate design, but after a rather barbaric pattern. Strangely 
original and outlandish are the patterns, all out of the teeming 
brain of the architect-designer. If one might hint a fault, they are 
scarcely bold enough for the monoliths, being of too laa-Uht a 
pattern. Something of a rougher and broader treatment would have 

The New Cathedral at Westmnster. 89 

in the vestibule on the left and right, near the entrance, and also 
the bit near the BapdsXerf. The richness of the whole— the 
modulated colours are charming the designs original— so exactly 
suited to the capacity of the marbles, makes it a feast for the eye, 
so as to cause us to lament that die whde design could not be carried 
out As it is we have to accept die wooden parquetry floor, which 
is really destructive of the idea of qndousness, and suggests the 
ordinary room of domestic life. Colossal piers and rock-like fiibrics 
seem inconsistent with the frail wooden blocks on which they seem 
to rest 

In de£Eiult of colouring the whole structure, the two large chapels 
to the right and left of the High Altar might be tinted buff or white ; 
this would not zfkcX the general tone of the Cathedral, as they are 
more or less enclosed. The Baptistery should also be tinted, and 
thus would matdi with the beautiful Brampton Chapel which opens 
into it On the Chapel of the Holy Souls— that to the left of the 
sanctuary — some pains should be expended, so that its rich materials 
and delicate colours should have fiill effect Every rag of the red 
draperies should be removed. 

It is remarkable that these marbles, with their lovely and delicate 
tints, should be only found in foreign, £ur-off countries. They contrast 
with our own native products, which are quite English in their down* 
n'ght assertive colours — ^plain blacks or greens or yellows. I say 
nothing of the indispensable and ever-present Aberdeen granite, 
which is always with us — ^a fine and everlasting material, but mono- 
tonous and unpleasant in its tint English marbles have no sugges- 
tiveness, no sub-tints. As Mr. Ruskin has said somewhere, the true 
ideal of colour is to be found only in these antique marbles, set up 
in company with well-wom, well-rusted mosaic, such as we find at 
St Mark's. They owe their effect to the rust and mellowing of 
ages. As a poet has said : 

" Not thine the guilt, soft-fingered Time, 
If nun comes, not thine the gilded shame ; 
Thy velvet touch does better mend than maim, 
Clips the gay frieze, but bids green ivy climb." 

These foreign marbles are of the rarest and most precious kind ; 
indeed, in these articles the skilled amateur and judge will find an 
almost over-abundance of material. No one who has not seen them 
can realise the half-tints, the rich, delicious plum, violet, and other 
colours which are found here. The polish attained, too, is extra- 
ordinary, owing to the density and closeness of the texture. 

In one of the unfinished chapels lie derelict the eight great 

90 Tkt Gentienmn's Magazine. 

columns worked and imported specially from old, disused mines, 
which were opened specially. By an unhappy chance, three of these 
precious things were fractured on their passage home, owing to the 
careless handling of Eastern sailors and porters, no doubt unaccus- 
tomed to deal with such rast bulks. It was at first thought that it was 
impossible to supply their place, as the mines were exhausted ; how- 
ever, at this moment they are actually in hand, and all is likely to be 
well When the BaldacMno, with eight rich columns, is set up, vkt 
the upholstering that now does duty for it, the long vista from the 
entrance will be suitably terminated. The altar, however, is to 
follow the changes of colour in the ritual, and, according to the feasts, 
to be red or white or black. This is not to be hailed with any satis- 
faction. The permanent unchanged altar, richly carved in wood, 
which we see in so many foreign churches, is much more architectural 
and better suited to a great church. 

In making this criticism nothing is intended in the way of 
carping or fault-finding. Who would look such a gift-hOrse too 
curiously in the mouth ? Fair criticism only increases fair apprecia- 
tion. It is only due to the lamented architect to see that his work 
is not uglified by well-meaning but ill-directed attempts at orna- 
ment. Uglify is a word that we owe to " Alice in Wonderland " — that 
sagacious child, whose parent I knew, having remarked that as we use 
" beautify " there should be a corresponding word in the opposite 
sense. As a stately fane of this kind will excite strong feelings di 
elevation, and is a sort of education, care should be taken not to 
interfere with or impair this wholesome impressioD. 


"C*HAK1NG off, Uierefore, all childish and effeminate fears, it 
^5 pleased God to give us hearts like men, to arme ourselves with 
a resolution to doe our best for the resisting of that monster of 

So wrote Edward Pellham, who faithfully recorded in i6ji the 
story of the " Miraculous Preservation and Deliverance of Eight 
Englishmen, left by mischance in Greenland, Anno 1631, nine 
months and twelve days," 

His record purports to be " a true relation of all tlieir miseries, 
their shifts and hardships they were put to, their food, &c., such as 
neither heathen nor Christian men ever before endured." 

The names of the eight adventurers were : William Fakeley 
(gunner ) ; Edward Pellham (gunner's mate, and the narrator of the 
story) ; John Wise and Robert Goodfellow (seamen) ; Thomas Ayres 
(whalecutter) ; Henry Belt (cooper) ; John Dawes and Richard 
Kellett (landsmen). They were all employed in the " Worshipfull 
Company of the Muscovia Merchants," and they set sail by order of 
the Company in the good ship " Salutation," of London, for Green- 
land, on the ist day of May, 1630, with a fair gale behind them, 
and, "setting our comely sayles to this supposed prosperous gale, 
and ranging through the boysterous biUowes of the rugged seas, 
by the help and gracious assistance of Almighty} God, wee 
safely arrived at our desired Port in Greenland the'eleventh of June 

The entire expedition consisted of three ships, commanded by 
Captain William Goodler. Their instructions were to stay for a 
month at the Foreland, and then, should it be possible, " make a 
voyage according to our expectation " ; but if that were after alt 
impossible, the ships were to separate, one to go a short distance 
eastward for whales ; a second southward, " to trie her skill and 
fortune if it were possible there to make a voyage " ; the third, f o 


92 The Gentieman's Magazine. 

which was our party of eight men, with others, to stay at the Foie- 
land ; but that order was subsequently countermanded by the 
captain, who sent a shallop from Bell Sound, where he was, with 
instructions that the ship should come to him, as he required it to 
carry some of his train-oil, and also thought it as well to make the 
fleet as strong as possible on the homeward-bound journey, Dunkirk 
pirates being very strong and rife at that time. Obediently the 
vessel left the Foreland on August 8, and endeavoured to make 
southwards towards Green Harbour, intending when the place was 
reached to Uke in twenty of the crew of the second ship. But a 
strong wind blew the struggling efforts of the vessel to (utility, so 
that it could not make its course. A week passed, and a calm, clear 
day arrived. The ship was now some five leagues from a place 
famous for venison, so that the master sent out our eight men, 
all together, in a shallop for the hunting and killing of some venison 
for the ship's provision. They were accompanied by a brace of dogs, 
and took with them a snap-hance, two lances, and a tinder-box, and 
pulled for the shove, where, after four hours, they arrived. It was a 
fine day and sport was plentiful, for our recorder tells, " that day 
we laid fourteene tall and nimble Deere along." Tired out with 
rowing and hunting, the party decided to make a meal, and after 
resting for the night, finish their hunting and return to their ship. 
But the morning brought a fog. A southerly wind blew along the 
coast, and betwixt the shore and the ship they had left lay a con- 
siderable quantity of ice, so that to get clear of it she had been 
obliged to stand out to sea. Thicker and thicker grew the weather, 
and our eight adventurers were unable, strain their eyes as they 
might, to see her. In this dilemma they decided to make for Green 
Harbour, hunting along the shore as they went, and there to stay 

Eight Captains of tkeir Fate. 95 

provisions. Their decision was prompt : ihey would make all 
possible speed to Bell Sound, to their captain. Heaving the 
venison overboard to lighten the sloop, they sped on their way 
southwards. That ntght they got half way, about the point of 
the Nesse, but darkness and misty fog increased so fast that it was 
impossible to get any further. All night and half the foUowliig 
day they remained in a cove, between two rocks. The weather 
clearing a little, and time being perilously short, they left the 
Nesse behind them and made for Bell Sound, as they thought. 
They had no compass, nor was any of their company "pilot 
sufficient to know the land when he saw it," so that they were " faine 
lo grabble in the darke (as it were) like a blind man for his way, and 
so overshot Bellpoint at least tenne leagues to the southward, towards 
Home Sound." 

Then occurred a discussion, the lost mariners taking counsel 
together. Will Fakeley, the gunner, was for making further south- 
wards ; but his opinion was overruled by the reason of the rest, and 
they made for the north, judging that they had already come too far 
south. Presently, the weather being fine and clear, they descried 
the tops of the lofty mountains of Bell Point. Fakeley, who had 
been in the country five or sis times before, looking about him, 
cried out that they were all on a wrong course, and would certainly 
lose all chance of regaining their ship. Tor a second time wc find 
them turning their boat's head southwards (our recorder being 
one of the minority against the turn). But now had arrived the 
" fatall twentieth day of August, the utmost day of our limited time 
for staying in the country." What could they dointheir uncertainty, 
and with the knowledge that "a million of miseries would of nc- 
ctissiiie ensue " if they failed to find the homeward-bound ships. 
I-akeley was still for steering and rowing further southwards ; but the 
rest had lost faith in his counsels and decided to make for the north. 
Fakeley thereupon refused to steer, so that our author records, " 1 took 
the oare out of his hand to sleere the boate withall." A change in 
the wind, and the shallop scudded along, bringing them to Bell Point. 
Here they were forced to shorten sail and betake themselves to their 
oars, and make for the shore. Seeking for a harbour for the shallop, 
Ihey despatched two of their party overland a distance of ten miles 
to see if the ships were still in the Sound. They came back with 
the disheartening news that they had gone. A storm of wind arose. 
Fearfully and impatiently they waited until midnight, when a 
calm succeeding, they set out for Bottle Cove, hoping and fearing 
itltcmately. The Cove was deserted, and pilotlcss, williout compass. 


94 Tke GentUmatis Magazine. 

and devoid of everything, our adventurers stood mute aad silent, 
with senses benumbed, tookit^ for nothing but a miserable and 
pining death. There crowded to their memories fearful examples of 
calamities that in this very Cove had befallen their fellows unda 
like circumstances. " And thus, like men already metamorphosed 
into the ice of the country, and already past both our sense and 
reason, stood wee, with the eyes of pittie beholding one another ! " 

One of the stories that recurred to thnr memories and 
" aSr^hted " them was of " nine good and able men left in the same 
place heretofore by the selfe-same master that now left us behinde ; 
who all dyed miserably upon the place, being cruelly disfigured after 
their deaths by the savage beares and hungry foxes, which are not 
only the civilest, but also the only inhabiunts of that comfortlesse 

They reflected, too, that they were without suitaUe clothes, 
without food, and without a house to shelter them firom the terrible 
cold of winter. It was at this juncture in their aflaiis that they 
came to the resolution set down at the bead of our chapter. 

The first step towards the "resisting of that monster Desperation" 
vas taken when they unanimously agreed to seize the next oppor- 
tunity presented by fair weather to go for Green Harbour, to hunt 
and kill venison for their winter supply. See them, then, on the 
first &ir day leaving Betl Sound for Green Harbour, which they 
reached in twelve hours. Their first act on arrival was to rig up 
a rough tent with their sail and oars wherein to sleep. They 
were overtired and very troubled in mind, so that they slqit but 

The following morning they went on in their shallop^ fitted out 
as best they might, for some miles to Coles Parke, where they killed 


Eight Captains of their FeUe. 95 

casks for storing their train-oil. These coopers had lodgiid and 
lived in the Tent during the early autumn months. It was of 
course empty during the winter. 

As they rowed towards Coles Parke, ihey espied by the side of a 
hill by the seaside seven deer feeding, and going ashore with their 
dogs ihey killed six. They slew another six as they returned along 
the side of the hill to the Tent. When morning broke they laded 
their shallop, and also another shallop wiiich ihey had found, left by 
the ship's Company for future use, with bears and venison and the 
graves of the whales which they had found boiled and flung out 
upon the ground ; then, dividing themselves into two equal com- 
panies, they manned the two shallops and " committed themselves 
to the sea " for Bell Sound, there as they hoped to store their food 
as they could secure it. But the darkness coming down upon them, 
and the next day being Sunday, they " thought it fit to sanctifie the 
rest of it, and to stay ourselves there untiU Munday, and to make the 
best use wee could of that good day, taking the best course wee could 
for the serving of God Almighty, although we had not so much as a 
Booke amongst us all the whole time wee staid in that country." 

Awakened by the sun on Monday morning, and rejoicing to see 
a fine clear day, they set out rowing, as they had done previously, for 
Bell Sound. The overcast sky and threatening wind, however, soon 
deterred their further progress, and they were obliged to put into 
Bottle Sound for the night. And now an unfortunate mishap befell 
lliem. Their shallops, which they had fastened together with a rope, 
casting their anchors in the Cove, were sea-washed, the whole of 
their provision being beaten about, wetted and spoilt, and much of it 
lost. In this dilemma they saw no remedy but a desperate one, 
that of plunging " into the high-wrought sea, getting by that meanes 
into our shallops, to save the remainder of our provisions, ready now 
to be washt quite away by the billowes." Having reached the boats, 
they heaved out of the water on to the shore the provisions, presently 
seeking them along Ihc seaside. This discouragement partially 
overcome, they decided to wait for fair weather and then make again 
for Bell Sound, The fine day greeted them on the third of September, 
and on that dale they stored their rescued spoil in the Tent. The 
temperature of the days was altering strangely, and the night frosts 
were growing in intensity, so that they realised that another hunting 
expedition was out of the question, as they feared that the Sound 
would be frozen over, preventing the return to their Tent. 

The route overland was too mountainous to attempt It was of 
supreme importance that they should build, with all expedition, a 


96 Th$ Gentleman's Magasins. 

house. This they decided must be within the Tent Putting thdr 
wits together, they resolved to build it on the south side. Not far 
away were the remains of an old wooden building which had been 
ran up many years previously to accommodate the landsmen who 
made the train-oil, and it was from this structure they obtained the 
materials they required. Posts, stanchions, rafters, and a hundred 
and fifty deal boards, with a thousand bricks from an old furnace, 
anciently used for train-oil boiling, constituted indeed a valuable 
find at thiS; crisis of their misadventures. Good fortune smiled on 
them also when she discovered to them several hogsheads of very 
fine lime. This, mixed with the sand of the seashore, made capital 
mortar for their bricklaying. Our author and William Fakeley, the 
gunner, acted as masons, and assisted by the rest they speedily 
reared two walls, each a brick thick, against the inner planks of the 
Tent. All the time two men were kept cimstantly employed flaying 
the venison. The bricks had given out, so that the builders had no 
choice but to build the other two walls of wood, which they nailed 
on both sides of the stanchions, filling up the hollow between mth 
sand, which effectually kept out the air. The chimney's vent was 
into the greater tent. The length of their new house was twenty feet 
by sixteen, and the height ten. They made their door to shut well, 
and lined it with an old bed which they found in their searches. 
They had no windows, but let in the light by their chimney vent 
from the big tent, removing some tiles in the eaves to effect their 
purpose. They now divided their structure into four cabins, each to 
contain two men, using for beds the dried deerskins, which they 
found warm and comfortable. 

Now came the great question of firing, so necessary for keeping 
away the cold and cooking their meat. On the shore; as good lut^ 

E^kt Captains of their Fate, 97 

we made a common practice of it ever after. It never went out 
eight monetbs together or thereabouts." 

Behold them, then, with house and firing provided, as on 
September 12 they noticed the first ice of the season, drift ic^ 
driving to and fro in the Sound. Early in the mcuning they arose, 
and, looking about them, espied two sea-horses lying asleep upon an ice 
block. Here was an opportunity that should not be lost An old 
harpoon lay in the tent Laimching a boat, they rowed out towards 
their unsuspecting victims, and coming near surprised them asleep, 
and despatched first the old female and then the young one, whidi, 
being unwilling to leave her dam, made her own capture easy. To 
haul them into the boat, cut them in pieces for roasting and eating, 
took but a short time to the expert whalers. A few days later they 
killed another. 

And now the severity of winter had oiur adventurers in its grasp^ 
and they thought with anxiety on the meagreness of their food 
supply, and hoped that kind chance would direct down their way 
some wandering bruins. There was nothing for it but to limit them- 
selves to one meal a day, and to keep two days a week as fast days, 
excepting from the fritters made of the loathsome meat known as 
graves of the whale. To this plan they adhered closely for three 
months. By this time their clothes were worn and torn almost to 
pieces, and necessity demanded an invention that should be applic- 
able for repairs. The bones of the whale, manipulated, served them 
for needles, and their thread they obtained from rope-yam. The 
nights had now become very long, and on October 10 so intense 
was the cold that the sea was frozen over. It was during these cold 
and dark times that our friends had leisure to think longingly of 
their homes, their parents, their wives and children, whose anxiety 
they knew must be deep on their account They also discussed in 
their saddest moments the cruelty of their master who had left them to 
these distresses. Their fears were not wholly for themselves. They 
remembered their shipmates, and reasoned that they might have 
been overtaken by the ice, and miserably perished, so having 
endured even worse things than themselves. One or two of the 
more pious of their number suggested that they should all cease 
their complainings and betake themselves to prayer for strength and 
patience in their miseries and a happy issue from their afflictions. 
This they did, and were immediately comforted and cheered. Look- 
ing more carefully into the matter of their supply of firing, they were 
of opinion that it would be as well, in case it should fail them before 
the cessation of the bitter cold, to roast daily^half a deer and stow 

VOL. ccxcvii. NO. 2083. ji 

gS Tki Genilematis Magasitu. 

the meat in hogsheads. This they did, leaving enough meat uncooked 
for roasting on Sundays and Christmas Day. 

A closer examination of their food supply disclosed to them the 
depressing faa that all the fritters were spoiled by the wet and were 
quite mouldy. 

There was not enough bear meat and venison to allow five meals 
a week, and they were compelled to substimte another fast day, " so 
that for the space of three moneths after that we, for foure dayes in 
the weeke, fed upon the unsavoury and mouldie fritters, and the other 
three we feasted it (the stomach) with beare and venison." Nor was 
it only meat they wanted. They needed tight also. From 
October 14 to February 3 they never saw the sun, " nor did hee, all 
that time, ever so much as peepe above the horizon." By the time 
the first day of December greeted them until the aoth there 
appeared no l^ht at all, not even that faint daylight glimmer which 
the previous days had shown them. 

Again that fertile mother, Necessity, brought forth an invention 
to lighten their darkness. 

With an old piece of sheet-lead, which they found over one of 
the coolers, they made three lamps. For wicks they used rope- 
yam, and their supply of oi) they found in the coopers' tent. It was 
New Year's Day before they could perceive the limitations of day and 
night with ease. As the days " began to lengthen, so the cold b^an 
to strengthen " ; which cold came at last to that extremitie as that it 
would raise blisters in our flesh, as if wee had been burnt with fire : 
and if wee touch't iron at any time it would sticke to our fingers like 
bird-time. Sometimes, if we went hut out a doores to fetch in a 
little water, the cold would nip us in such sort that it made us as 
sore as if wee had beene beaten in some cruell manner." 

Eight Captains of their Fate. 99 

snow for anger." The cub, seeing the fate of its dam, fled, and so 
escaped. Drawing the dead bear into their house, they flayed her, 
and cut up her flesh into pieces, each of about a stone weight, and 
found sufficient supply for twenty days. This bear was the harbinger 
of many more, some forty in all, which visited them, driven by hunger. 
Of these they killed seven. One great bear, slain on the fourth day 
of March, stood at least six feet high. These of course they flayed 
and cooked. The roasting was done on wooden spits, as their only 
cooking utensil was an old frying-pan they had found in the tent. 
Now, having no stint of food, for the bears' flesh they found as 
savoury as any beef could be, they ate two- and three meals a day, 
and soon noticed an increase in their strength of body. 

The better weather brought innumerable small wildfowl, whose 
usual breeding-place was this coast. They feed on small flsh. The 
foxes, which had all the winter kept their burrows, now came forth 
from beneath the rocks to look round on an awakened world, and 
snatch their food, the wildfowl, if they could take them. 

Our adventurers set traps for the foxes, baiting them with the 
skins of the fowl which they had found on the snow, the birds having 
fallen on their flight from the hill, where they bred, towards the sea. 
" For this fowle," says our chronicler, " being about the bignesse of 
a ducke, hath her legs placed so close unto her rumpe as that when 
they alight once upon the land they are very hardly (if ever) able to 
get up againe, by reason of the misplacing of their legs and the 
weight of their bodies ; but being in the water they raise themselves 
with their pinions well enough." Setting their traps well out in the 
snow, they caught as many as fifty foxes, and these they roasted, 
finding the meat very good. Their next attempt was to set a trap 
for the fowl. They took, therefore, a bearskin, and laying the flesh 
side upward, they made springs of whalebone, and by this contrivance 
secured no less than sixty fowl, about the size of a pigeon. 

On March 16 they had, to their grief and surprise, lost one of 
their mastiff* dogs. He had left the tent in the morning as usual, but 
never returned home again, nor could they ever ascertain what 
became of hinu^- On May 24, the weather being now warmer, they 
espied a buck. They went out after him with their remaining dog, 
but he had grown so fat and lazy that he was not able to pull down 
the deer. They therefore, to their chagrin, missed their chance. 

On this day, too, they found and carried home some willock's 
eggs (a willock is a bird about the size of a duck), deciding to return 
with their comrades the following day and bring home a thousand 
more of the eggs. But the next day was so intensely cold--a cutting 

100 Th€ GenilematCs Magazint. 

east wind stinging every living thing with which it came in contact — 
that they hugged their house, nor sallied foitb at all. 

Only a day or two had passed since they had been able to 
discern the water under the frozen sea. A stonn of wind had 
broken the main body of ice in the Sound, and a hustling east wind 
had driven the broken ice into the sea and cleared the Sound for a 
great way, although the water near the shore was still frozen. 

Constantly, since the warmer weather, the castaways had climbed 
to the top of a hill on the look-out for the freeing of the Sound from 
ice. On this day of the biting, searching east wind they had, how- 
ever, as we have said, remained in their Teat 

See them alt gathered together in their house for prayers, except 
one, Thomas Ayres, who was still in the great Tent, and for whom 
they waited. What delayed him? They were growing impatient 
and curious. 

Suddenly a great shout, familiar to the ears of seafaring men — 
" Hey ! " — roused their attention. It was instantly answered with 
" Ho ! " and the assembled men, waiting for no more, rashed out. 
Found at last; rescued; saved for home and England ! 

Their joy overpowered them. There stood the mates, whom 
they had not seen for so long a time, looking at them, blackened as 
they were with the smolce and wearing tattered garments. At the 
answering shout of Ayres the rescue party had stood amazed, half 
afiaid, scarce believing the testimony of their own ears. Now that 
of their eyes convinced them, and they rushed eagerly forward to 
embrace the poor suflerers. " We showed them," writes our recorder, 
"the courtesie of the house, and gave them such victuals as we had, 
which was venison, roasted foure moneths before, and a cuppe of 
cold water, which for nuveltie sake they kindly accepted of us. 

• • ... 

a « a • • . 

Mason's ship. Judge of the disappointment of the poor fellows, who 
had endured so much misery, when, instead of a kindly welcome, 
Mason spoke roughly to them, calling them runaways and using 
other harsh epithets ! 

On August 20 they set sail for Old England, and came at last, 
after contrary winds, to anchor in the river Thames, to their "great 
joy and comfort and the merchants' benefite." 


Public Interest in the Stage. 

THOUGH a good thing in itself, the renewed interest in the 
drama which has been manifested during recent years by the 
public is not without serious drawbacks. About the middle of last 
century the enlightened and cultivated section of English life held 
aloof from the stage. When on the production of a new play which 
I was bound to witness I had at my disposal two or more of the free 
seats then lavishly distributed, I found it difficult to induce anyone 
to accompany me ; and when in the sixties or thereabouts I told 
George Heniy Lewes (the historian of philosophy, the Slingsby Law- 
rence of The Game of Speculation — himself, in turns, dramatist, actor, 
and critic) that I wrote on the drama, he expressed a doubt whether 
(since his retirement?) drama or criticism continued to exist. 
Revival of interest in these things dates virtually from the establish* 
ment, at the Prince of Wales's Theatre, in Tottenham Street, of the 
Bancroft management and the appearance of the Robertsonian 
comedy. Since that time public curiosity concerning the stage and 
its exponents has progressed until now, when both occupy perhaps 
a disproportionate amount of public attention, and the drama ranks as 
the most popular of the arts. Honours out of the reach of the 
Garricks and the Kembles of former days are awarded its pro- 
fessors, and clubs composed of playgoers and self-constituted critics 
are numerous and assertive. These signs of progress are accom- 
panied by a marked advance in the social status of the actor, due 
rather to the class from which he is taken than to any augmented 
knowledge on his part of the art he follows or the profession be 

The Manager and the '<Gods." 

WHILE satisfactory in many respects, perhaps, even in the 
main, the state of things I describe has, as I have said, its 
drawbacks. The drama is now, as it were, under the patronage of 
a number of self-constituted arbiters, who in addition to deciding on 
the value and the fiite of novelties seek to add to their respomi* 

TabU Talk. 


bilities by aiding or counselling the manager in the engagements 
he must make, and so establishing an imperium in imperio. It will 
scarcely, I think, be easy to induce managements to acquiesce in this 
division of power. When recently, at the New Theatre, Sir Charles 
Wyndham was rebuked loudly and by name for substituting one lady 
for another as the juvenile heroine of his piece, he failed to grasp 
either the sense or the humour of the situation ; and, besides bringing 
one of his numerous advisers before the authorities, announced his 
intention to arrest similar demonstrations in future. It is naturally 
from the " gods " that the protest and the thunder proceed. These, 
and not these alone, may plead precedent. The first recorded riots 
in a theatre were from the titled Mohocks who in early Hanoverian 
days claimed aright to sit on the stage and impede or insult the actors, 
Macklin was dismissed, in 1773, from Covent Garden in answer to 
reiterated demands of the public. This resulted rn an action in the 
Court of King's Bench, in which Lord Mansfield enunciated his 
famous judgment that every person in a theatre has a right to express 
his approbation or disapprobation instantaneously, but pointed out 
the danger incurred when the rioters came to a theatre with a design 
to create a riot or oppress an individual. Instances are known in 
which, in response to an effort to abridge their privileges, the footmen — 
once the ordinary and privileged occupants of the gallery — descended 
on to the stage to destroy the fittings, and were only prevented by 
military interference from wrecking the house. 

Public Cknsure of the Drama. 

I SEEK neither to exaggerate the importance of the manifesta- 
tions that have recently been made nor to interfere with the 
right of the gallery frequenters to express an opinion on a play, 
favourable or the reverse. A few hisses, preferable in every respect 
to the modern system of " booing," followed by a peaceful depar- 
ture from the house, will, in the majority of instances, do no harm, 
and may even do good. I protest, however, against the system of 
luring, by delusive applause, an author before the curtain for the 
purpose of howling at and deriding him, and also against the 
practice of insistbg upon a speech from the management. The 
author who responds to a call, and the manager who addresses the 
pubhc, are, in my judgment, equally unwise. To the practice on 
the part of certain managers of haranguing the audience on the 
occasion of some teal or supposed triumph may be attributed half 
the unseemly ructions that have recently been witnessed. Mean- 
while the possibility of a feud between managers and " first nighters 


I04 The Gent/eman's Magazine. 

has to be taken into question. I use the slang term " Grst-ntghter," 
inasmuch as, so far as my knowledge extends, no opposition or dis- 
turbance has in modem days been prolonged to a second night. In 
the case of feuds of the kind it is the malcontents, lather than the 
managements, that are likely to sufler. It may be only an abridgement 
of their privities that ensues ; but that even is to be deprecated, and 
if possible avoided. 

Gallery Criticism. 

OKE serious aspect is presented by the assumption by the 
gallery of the right to hoot 0? the stage a piece of which it 
disapproves. No similar right is claimed by other portions of the 
house. The inhabitants of the stalls and boxes in England laugh or 
yawn, and in America depart ; the last method being the most sen- 
sible of all. Is the gallery, I would ask, endowed with capacities or 
rights denied to other parts of the house ? I am aware that there are 
institutions which support its claim to authority, and are — mistakenly, 
I think — fortified in so doing by some who should know better. 
Literature, however, is in some respects a delicate nursling. New 
developments of literature often meet with keen antagonism. I have 
but to look at the development of poetry in the last century — a period 
of absolute renaissance, and to point out afresh that each new mani- 
festation of genius met with fierce opposition. Is it not possible that 
our aggressive gallery may oppose, and even crush, some delicate 
manifestations of genius? Is it cocksure of its knowledge and 
capacity? After an experience of first-night productions almost 
unrivalled, I find there are modem dramatic developments npon 
which I hesitate to express an opinion. The influence of Ibseo upon 
the best of our modem dramatists is felt, but his works have not yet 
won full recognition. The delicate and tender, if mystical, art of 



August 1 904. 


By Felix Noel. 

1WAS wet to the skin ; it had rained all day as it only knows 
how to rain in London, a hopeless downpour, making the 
streets one pool of mud. It was November, and my clothes were 
thin, a summer suit, which was all but through at the knees and 
elbows, while my boots were in holes and my feet saturated. I 
was sitting in the National Gallery, a place which is often a refuge 
for hopeless waifs bke myself; before me hung Van Dyck's 
wonderful " Charles I " ; the worn, melancholy face was in keeping 
with my thoughts, though I was hardly conscious of it. The place 
was nearly empty for a great City pageant was going on, and, wet as it 
was, most of the usual sight-seers were drawn to it ; no one was near 
but a rough-looking farmer asleep on a seat behind me, and a pair of 
young lovers in a distant comer. 

I had reached that stage when a man is regardless of appearances, 
and with my burst and ragged boots thrust out before me, my 
soaked cap drawn over my eyes, sat shivering with my hands in my 
empty pockets and racked with hunger, for I had tasted nothing since 
the morning of the day before. Faint and weak, I was conscious every 
now and then of losing myself as it were, while ever and anon 
sounded in my ears a saying of an old nurse of mine, when as a child 
I saw a tramp taken to prison for stealing a loaf: "Ah, Master 
Charlie, hunger's a sharp thorn ! " 

The words seemed to set themselves to a tune and to be repeated' 
over and over again, " A sharp thorn ! " " Hunger's a sharp thorn ! ' 
till they seemed to be written on the walls and floor around me. 


io6 The GetUleman's Magazine. 

Presently a gentlenum and lady came into the room, catalogued 
and waterproofed. They passed before me after a while in making 
the circuit of the room, and the lady glanced in my direction with 
deep disapprobation, the displeased glance lingering especially on 
my ostentatiously displayed ragged boots. She turned to her 
husband and said something in which I caught the words " Shock* 
ingly dissipated-looldng ! " and he following her glance murmured 
something about " drink." It amused me somehow in my reckless 
state, and I laughed. When one is in the feeble condition that was 
then mine, to begin to laugh or cry means to continue doing so, 
and it was some time before I could check the convulsive laughter — 
that assuredly had no mirth in it At last I succeeded, feeling 
weaker than ever. I was only waiting till the evening drew on and 
then — well, then I meant to seek the refuge so many have sought 
before — the river; that cheap refuge for those who, having lost 
their faith in God and trust in man, imagine that they can seek in 
death a refiige from their misery. 

So the day wore on, grey and dreary, when a girl came briskly 
into the room. A tall girl, dressed in a sensible grey cloth dtess, 
short in the skut, and displaying a pair of neat strong boots ; her 
hair, thick and of a rich brown, with glints of bronze-red here 
and there, was coiled up under her sailor hat — only a chefq> black 
straw, but neat and serviceable-looking. My eyes rested on her as 
on a pleasant picture which after to-day I should see no more ; and 
I wondered idly in my enfeebled mind whether, when she read in 
to-morrow's paper of the body of a man found in the river, she 
might possibly cormect it with the shabby strar^r she had seen in 
the G^ery. She went round the room with the air of one who has 
often been there before, and was seeking out her chief bvouiites 

A London Idyl. 107 

" Will you oblige me by taking these ? They are very nice and it 
is a pity to waste them, and I am not hungry." 

Starving as I was, I am thankful to remember, that the beast 
within me had not quite all its own way. I could not speak, but 
shook my head and motioned her away, but she exclaimed — with her 
eyes, soft eyes of that bewildering colour that is sometimes green, 
sometimes brown, now dark, now light, the most expressional eyes 
of any — earnestly studying my face, " Oh, please do not pain me by 
a refusal ; if you do I shall feel that I have offended you, and indeed 
I had no intention of doing so, I spoke without thinking." 

Before she had finished speaking I was devouring the food. Even 
now I cannot think without pain of the way in which I tore at it ; 
the recollection of those sharp pangs, of that fierce craving has never 
left me. It has ever since been impossible for me to refuse the 
sturdiest of beggars who carries " Lie " on his forehead, if only he 
says that he is hungry. 

While I ate, the girl sat a little turned away, searching for some- 
thing in the little bag she carried, then she turned round. 

" I hope I do not hurt your feelings," she said gently, " but I too 
know what it is to be without work, and so will you let me lend you 
something till you are better off? " 

As she spoke she held out a five-shilling piece. 

" Do you know what you have done for me ? " I asked hoarsely, 
not offering to take the money. 

She shook her head a little timidly. 

" I should have ended this day — and all earthly days for me — in 
the river," I replied. 

She trembled a little. " And now ? " 

" And now," I said, " it dawns upon me that there is after all 
some pity and sympathy left in the world, and I will try for a day or 
two longer." 

She was weeping. " Don't," I said ; " I am sorry to have grieved 

She cried for a minute or two in a quiet, self-restrained way, then 
said, putting the money into my hand quickly, the warm touch of her 
fingers thrilling to my very heart : " Will you promise me that you 
will come here and tell me if you do not find anything to do, though 
I believe and hope you will? It is a curious thing to ask you, 
perhaps, a stranger, but I might hear of something — or be able to 
help you in some way. I often come here ; it is usually quiet at this 
time, and I shall expect to see you in a day or two." 

She rose as she spoke. I rose too and stood looking down into 


io8 Tke GentUmatCs Magazttu. 

her £ice, such a true womanly fac^ full of sweet sympathy and 

" I know why you ask me to come," I said ; " it is the kindness 
of your heart that prompts your request. Yes, I will come, but not to 
take from you the money for which you have to work, perhaps work 
harder than I can think. But your dreams shall not be haunted by 
my drowned face ; I will come if only to tell you that I still live." 

She moved her head in a gentle greeting, and then went swtfUy 

The day was growing dark, as it does so soon in London, and I 
rose to go and seek a lodging for the night I went out and stood 
looking into the gloom of the mingled rain and fog and the fast 
gathering night. Some one touched my arm ; turning I saw that the 
old farmer, as I had thought him, was beside me. He was a sturdy 
man of middle height, with a strong face and a pair of keen dark eyes. 
"You seem down on your luck, young man," said be. 

"Very much so," I replied; "it is strange that in a place like 
London work should be so hard to find." 

" Have you wanted work long ? " he asked. 

" Since last May, when the firm that employed me became bank- 
rupt," I answered. 

He slood beside me thoughtful for a moment, then said : 

" Do you mind accepting a dinner from a stranger ? I should 
like to have a few words with you, and this is a comfortless place in 
this driving rain." 

I looked at my companion more attentively, noticing for the first 
time that, though his clothes could not be called fashionable in cut 
and style, he was well and comfortably dressed, and that by a good 
tailor. I glanced from him to myself, and said, " I scarcely look 

A London Idyl. 109 

That meal remains in my memory as the vaguest dream of con- 
fused sight and sounds. We sat down to a simple repast that in the 
contrast it formed to anything that I had had for some months was a 
very feast of Dives. But I could not eat it when it was before me. 
As I sat there in the ¥rarm and lighted room strong shivers shook 
me from head to foot. I became dimly conscious that I was talking 
fast and wildly, and that the keen eyes of my companion were fixed 
on me with an expression of grave concern. Every now and then I 
made a vigorous effort to pull myself together, and collect my wan- 
dering thoughts, but in a few minutes I found myself off again on a 
new track. At last I rose, but as I did so the walls of the room 
seemed to close and contract around me. I struggled violently to 
push them back but they approached swiftly, surely, as I have read 
somewhere was done in one of the tortures of the Inquisition ; then 
I felt myself going down, down into immeasurable depths : and I 

knew no more. 


I opened my eyes upon a fresh scene. At first everything 
around me seemed white, as though I were adrift in a milky sea ; 
but by degrees the whiteness resolved itself into the counterpane 
of a bed, on which I was lying ; some one was holding something to 
my lips and I feebly wished they would let me alone, then I drifted 
off" again ; by-and-by my eyes opened again, and I was conscious of 
people talking in the room around me, and I wondered weakly who 
they were. 

" Patient is awake, Nurse," said a voice, and I saw looking down 
on me the strong keen face that I had last seen opposite me in the 

I tried to speak, and the effort brought the great drops on my 

" No, no, you are not to talk," said my visitor ; " you are getting 
on nicely," and as he turned away, I heard him say something about 
" poor fellow," and wondered who the poor fellow might be. 

He had brought me there, that kind and good man, as I found 
out when at last I struggled back to life, a very wreck, but daily 
gaining health and strength. He was a great City merchant, and his 
son — a fine, handsome fellow of my own age and as kindhearted as 
his father — came to see me as soon as I was strong enough to bear 
visitors, and sat by my bed, and cheered me more than words can 
express. And, as soon as I could be removed, they sent me away 
into the country, where the first shimmer of green was appearing on 
the trees — so long had I been ill, and there I found myself gaining 

no The Gentlematis Magazine, 

the strength of a Hercules, and an appetite of which I was Teritabl3r 
ashamed, and yearning for the day when I might take up the work 
that my Idnd friend had promised me as soon as I should be able to 

And the girl whose gentle voice and sweet pity had brought hope 
into my desolate heart. What of her ? Had I — man-like — forgotten 
her and my promise? Surely not. For in the early days of my 
convalescence I heard one morning a mighty rustling of silk, and 
th^e appeared at my bedside an old lady, very stately and dignified 
in appearance, the wife of my good fiiend ; but her stateliness melted 
away at the first sight of my wan face, and she cried over me — though, 
as it were, under protest — and called me " my dear " like the true 
motherly soul that she was. 

And on her second visit, accompanied by extravagant quantities 
of jellies and beef-tea and other good things, I summoned up courage 
to tell her of my anxiety about the girl who had befriended me in 
my extremity, and whose gentle heart m^ht even now be saddened 
by the thought that I had failed her. It may be that the dear old 
lady scented a romance in the air ; at any rate, she went that very 
day to the Gallery and found there my friend, sitting as I had sat 
before the " King Charles," and what passed between them I did 
not know until long after, but kind messages and assurances 
that she had never lost faith in me were brought, and I waited 
contentedly for the day when I should be able to see her again, 
feeling sure that it would come, though no word to that effect had 
passed between us, and the dear old lady was a very Tower of 
Silence with respect to anything else that might have been siud 
concerning me. 

The parks were gay, and the sun was shining — as it does much 
more frequently in London than a aood many people can be made 

A London Idyl. 1 1 1 

iSSrst, and only by degrees was able to summon up courage to ask 
questions about my health and country visit, and such things ; but as 
we talked, and I told her more and more of myself, of the dear old 
mother whose honoured grey head I had seen laid to rest two weary 
years ago, and the pretty sister far away in her Australian home with 
her husband and babies, she forgot her shyness, and we chatted 
easily, and finally parted feeling like old friends, looking forward to a 
speedy meeting. 

There were many such meetings ; we strolled together in the 
parks when all fashionable London had deserted them and was 
disporting itself in Scotland or on the Continent, and once or twice 
we managed a little excursion on the river ; but always as friends, 
friends only ; it was long before I could summon up courage to 
speak the love that day by day in her sweet companionship grew 
stronger and stronger. 

My kind friend had given me 3 place in his great City office; 
it was at first a very subotdinale post, naturally, and the 'pay for 
my work, though just and fair, was only sufficient to keep me, with 
no hope of even the putting by for the proverbial rainy day. But 
love is stronger than prudence. 

It was late autumn, never a very cheerful season in London, but 
we had kept up our daily walks, even though now and then they 
were of a rather damp description, necessitating umbrellas and 
waterproofs ; my darling is by-lhe-by the only woman whom 1 
have ever seen who was not disfigured by that most hideous of 
garments, a mackintosh ; but there, she looked and looks well in 
everything, no matter how simple. 

We were walking in the park under the nearly leafless trees, 
and a soft wind was blowing and bringing with it sudden drifts of 
rain. She was silent ; she had often had long fits of silence of late, 
and glancing at her downcast face I thought it bore a somewhat sad 
expression. She was usually so cheerful, my little love, working 
away so bravely, so unmurmuringly, that her sadness struck me with 
sudden alarm. 

" You look very grave to-night," I ventured. 

She lifted her eyes to my face, they were brilliant with tears, 

"What Is it? Tell me I You are unhappy! Have /said or 
done anything to pain you ? " 

She smiled through her tears. 

" Vou 1 Oh no. You are always too kind to me ; but sometimes 
I am a little tired and a little lonely, and to-day is my birthday, 
and — and" — with an attempt at a little laugh which was a conspicu> 


] 1 2 The Gentleman's Magazine, 

ous failure, " I was foolish enough to feel unhappy because there is 
no one to remember it, and " she broke down. 

Then I put mjr arms round her and drew her to rest on my 
heart, and whispered, as het dear head nestled into my breast, 
" Sweetheart, I love you," and t(^ether we entered into the Eden in 
whose sunny groves all true lovers dwell 

What a difierent aspect our walks presented from that time 
forth 1 How we strolled along the muddy streets during that never- 
to-be-foi^otten winter, and looked into the shops and made imagin- 
ary presents to each other ! and by-and-by began a similar system 
of house-fiimishing, cheaper by far than any " Hire System " ever 
invented. What a hi^;e hole in my finances too was made by the 
purchase of that little trumpery ring, sparingly set with turquoises, 
which I placed on my love's finger with so much pride 1 That 
little ring is there yet, nearly hidden in the glitter of the diamonds 
above it, diamonds which are not so bright as my wife's dear eyes, 
though our eldest girl is to-day the same age that her mother was 
when I drew off her betrothal ring, only to replace it over the little 
gold band that marked her as a wife. 

Ah, dear and ever dearer wife, God's best and choicest gift 1 
Who can measure the depth and height of the power of a true 
woman's tender compassion ? 



"ITT HO knows not Nikko must ne'er say Kekko " (/>. magnifi- 
VV cent). So runs a Japanese proverb, playing on the 
jingling words, for Nature, Art, and Religion combine to glorify 
the sanctum sanctorum of Japan with threefold fame. 

'* Once upon a time in the mountains of Nikko," is the initial 
sentence of almost every national fairy tale; for fable and fancy 
people this haunted r^on with gods and demons, elves and 
monsters. " Nikko-zan," " Mountain of the Sun's Brightness," pro- 
bably memorialises ancient sun-worship, that primaeval creed which 
first raised human thought heavenward with the pathetic yearning 
for "the land beyond the dawn," revealed to longing eyes by the 
rose of daybreak dispersing the clouds of night. In the earliest age 
of authentic history a Shinto temple was standing at Nikko ; and 
though local records are obscure until the eighth century, when a 
Buddhist saint built a shrine on the sacred hill, tradition reaches 
back into that misty dreamland of myth and fancy, through which 
humanity groped from darkness into light. After sundry omens 
and visions, a Buddhist monastery was erected on a peak known as 
•^ The Mountain of the Four Gods," who appeared under the forms 
of a blue dragon, a red bird, a white tiger, and a black warrior. A 
holy abbot in the following century continued the meritorious work 
by raising altars to the divinities of mountain and forest ; for the 
voices of wind and waterfall, river and tree, combined with weird 
effects of cloud, mist, and woodland shadow, in suggesting super- 
natural manifestations to the uncontrolled fancy and inaccurate 
observation of the period. The Shogun leyasu was buried with 
Buddhist rites, the system gradually predominating over the more 
ancient Shinto creed ; and until the Restoration in 1868, when 
Buddhism was disestablished and disendowed, the Abbot of Nikko 
was always a prince of the Imperial line. The superb tombs of 
leyasu, the founder, and his warrior grandson, lemitsu, the 
consolidator of the feudal power, gave new prestige to Nikko, 
attracting countless worshippers to the monuments of the deified 

114 ^A* Gentleman's Magazine. 

Shoguns. A glorious avenue of colossal ciyptomeria, noblest of the 
pine tribe, extends for twenty-three miles from the plains to the 
venerable mountain shrines. The pillared trunks of deepest red 
beneath the blade canopy of shade, with rays of emerald light 
piercing the fan-like boughs, suggest the interminable nave of some 
vast cathedral, though modern vandalism cuts many a gap in the 
long vista of ruddy columns, and thatched villages encroach on the 
grand Via Sacra of otden time. A second aisle of huge trees, known 
as "The Way of the Envoy," flanks the main avenue, and was used 
for the armed train of the ambassador who brought gifts &om the 
reigning Shogun to the shrine of leyasu. 

Japanese imagination fills the Daigawa Valley below the temples 
with evil spirits and fabulous animals, haunting nook and comer, or 
lying in wait for sacrilegious pilgrims. On the bank of the brawling 
river overhung by drooping boughs of scarlet maple, stands a row of 
moss-grown Buddhas, tradition affirming the impossibility of counting 
them correctly, and asserting their miraculous origin. Some of the 
mouldering statues have fallen from the lotus-wreathed columns, to 
lie buried in fern and bramble, the meditative calm of the stone 
faces veiled by the green tendrils of Nature's garlands woven round 
each sacred head. 

A typhoon of the previous autumn has washed away the Red 
Bridge which formerly spanned the stream. This picturesque erection 
of vermilion lacquer, with brazen plates resting on massive columns, 
was originally built for the passage of the Sboguns to] the temples, 
and only the Emperor, since his restoration to power, was permitted 
to cross it. Tradition asserts that the Gods threw it down from 
heaven, but the expensive task of replacing it is left in mortal hands. 
The common herd crosses the river by a rude bridge of unpointed 
woodwork, solid enough to bear the weight of countless p 

Mountain Shrines of Japan. ''S | 

right and left of Ihe sculptured balustrade, the interstices sown with 
tiny ferns, by Nature's eternal yet transitory handiwork. Red 
lacquered walls of a graceful pagoda gleam against the dark trees, and 
a waodering sunbeam sparkles on the golden scales of the dragons, 
whose crimson jaws form the water-spouts of the curving eaves. A 
wandering breeze sighs through the pines : and the solemn booming 
of the temple gongs, stealing at intervals in long sweet notes through 
the air, blends with the voices of Nature in perfect concord. Further 
flights of mouldering steps lead to those gorgeous gateways of the 
great temples which represent the climax of Japanese architecture. 
Angels, birds, and flowers stand out in high relief from the blaze of 
gold and colour ; dragons wind with intricate convolutions round 
every shaft — the golden trefoil of the Tokugawa line conspicuous 
among peony and plum blossom, chrysanthemum and bamboo ; but . 
these marvellous gates need careful study, and only a general im- I 
pression of unparalleled splendour is grasped in the superficial view 
wherewith the ordinary tourist must content himself. The outer 
courts, with their holy-water tanks, canopied fountains, scarlet belfries, 
and drum towers, contain artistic gems of metal-work in the myriad 
lanterns of iron, bronze, and brass, presented by Daimios and tribu- 
tary kings, notably those of Korea, Loochoo, and Holland, formerly 
it^arded as a vassal state. Broad eaves of porch and fountain 
bristle with red pennons and paper prayers, hung on cornice and 
gable by pious pilgrims, but the Gods of wind and rain have obliterated 
most of the inscriptions. Carved and painted storehouses contain the 
treasures of the temples, including ceremonial ornaments used on 
the festivals of the deified Shoguns, together with silken robes of 
State, and richly lacquered furniture. In a red-roofed hall, gigantic 
golden images of Kwannon and Amida stand in friendly proximity 
to the great Buddha, who comprehends them in his Eastern pan- 
theon. The Sorinto, a copper column, wreathed with lotus flowers, and 
hung with bells, was built to avert malefic influences, and the 
traditional baku, a combination of wolf, tiger, and elephant, crowns 
smaller pillars to fulfil the same purpose. So strong is national 
faith in the power of this mythological animal, that he is generally 
painted in gold lacquer on the wooden pillows of Japanese nobility, 
in order to devour any bad dream passing before slumbering eyes. 
A gnarled pine-tree in a stone enclosure remains as a memento of 
the Shogun leyasu, who carried it with him in his palanquin, when j 
only a tiny shrub planted in a porcelain flower-pot. Near this i 
historic tree an exquisitely carved gateway displays the triad oT I 
sacrud monkeys, their paws covering eyes, mouth, and ears 


Sit Ctrntltwum's Magazine. 

at Buddhist doctrine, "I will neither see, hear. 
On waaj a lonely crag or forest tree these 
ffiKc mtoib^^ CMTcd in relieT, still preach their little gospel to the 
ylPfiHt; Twwiner vdA suggest a profitable theme for his solitary medi- 
jjii^Pftc TwJiBti'lii r^ards it as a meritorious work to remind the 
.ufjbfMMoi MXffuts of the claims which religion makes upon all man- 
)j}mL JMI tKfs of et^nal truth shine through the cloud of superstition 
)ilw ^tottds of gold woven into a black curtain hung before the 
^ttriMf of an unknown God. 

Below a sculptured arch stands the vaulted stable of the sacred 
tKWte belonging to the tutelary divinity. A weird interest attaches 
l» this white steed, ridden through the dark forest ways at midnight 
by the Abbot of Nikko, when the deified Sh(^n presumably 
returns to earth and mounts in ghostly presence behind his priestly 
representative, on the somewhat degenerate descendant of the chai^er 
which carried the warrior prince to battle. 

The ErI King of Northern folklore, hitherto the ideal type of 
woodland magic and mystery, pales into insignificance when compared 
with this fantastic dream of Eastern forests. The midnight darkness, 
the brooding silence of the haunted pine-woods broken by the sound 
of gallopii^ hoofs, and the white horse flashing through the gloom 
with his ghostly rider, thrill the soul of an imaginative race with 
supernatural awe. The Gods and demons crowding round the ancient 
temples represent the eternal battle between good and evil, waged 
in every centre of worship, whether pure or corrupt, for the leaven of 
truth vitalising imperfect systems which have crystallised into creed 
suggests that the Deity dimly shadowed forth would have all His 
wandering children glean some harvest gold from the field of fiuth ; 
a conclusion in no way detracting from the glory of Him who binds 

^^^^V Mountain S/innes of Japan. \ 1 7 ^| 

■ above the gilt columns, is guarded by grotesque figures of "the 1; 
laughing Buddhas," a deified Chinese priest and his sons, who in- 
vented this contrivance to facilitate the hitherto impossible task of 
perusing the seven thousand " sutras " of the Buddhist canon, award- ^H 
ing equal merit to the worshipper who turned the Library three ^| 
limes on the axis. Through arched gates of miraculous beauty ^| 
leading from court to court of gleaming gold and scarlet in an ^| 
ascending scale of splendour and brilliancy, we reach the Karamon, ^H 
the white Chinese porta! before the main temple. The Tokugawa ^| 
crest on the ridge-pole glitters against black ranks of serried pines ; and ^ 
overhanging eaves shadow, as with jewelled folds, the white and golden 
beauty of the intricate lace-work. The sweeping curves of the fluted 
roof, originally suggested by the sagging haircloth of Mongolian tents, 
recall the nomadic past, when some backwash of that Western wave 
which bore the tribes of Central Asia toward the setting sun floated 
the aboriginal settlers of Japan towards the Eastern Sea encircling 
their future home. Chinese influence pervades Nikko, and the 
Imperial Founder of the Middle Kingdom with his Court is carved 
in ivory relief among Confucian sages on the Kara-mon. To the 
right stands the canopied stage for the Kagura dance of the Shinto 
priestesses ; and an ancient dame, robed in white and scarlet, performs 
a weird and lifeless measure to the tune of tinkling bells and the 
waving of a feather fan. In the intervals of the dances required by 
the visitors, she sits on the red platform mounting guard over the brass 
money-box into which the offerings of spectators are cast. Business 
is slack on this October morning, and the superannuated priestess 
apparently prolongs her dancing days in vain. White muslin veil and 
thin red skirt flutter pitifully round the shrunken figure, but the appeal 
10 Japanese devotion is unheeded, or unfavourably compared with the 
secular charms q{ mat ko axxA geisha in the flora! dances of the capital. 
Shoes are left at the temple steps before we may tread upon the 
soft mats laid over the lacquered floors of the dim sanctuaries, their 
gorgeous colouring and elaborate ornament subdued by the prevailing 
twilight. Golden dragons and rainbow -winged angels, their plumage 
tapering off into the feathery tail of a bird of paradise, disport them- 
selves on a blue ceiling which represents a summer sky. Mauy- 
hued chrysanthemums wreathe medallions of red eagles and while 
phcenixes, but when Shintoism was established as the State religion, 
Buddhist symbols were removed from leyasu's temiile, bells, 
censers, and candelabra being replaced by the round mirror, rice- 
straw rope, and strips of gold paper hung before the curtained 
shrine of the empty Shinto sanctuary. The temple of Yakushi, 


ii8 The GeHtlematis Magazine. 

leyasu's patron saint, remains intact, for even adherents of the 
revived Shintoism shrink from despoiling the shrine of the Sbogun's 
-celestial guardian. Shadowy drifts of pink flower-petals, and gilded 
spnys of bamboo, appear as though submerged in the transparent 
depths of azure and vermilion lacquer with their strange suggestions 
of fathomless water. Silver lotus blossom decks the golden altar, 
a bronze stork on a tortoise (the Buddhist emblem of immortality) 
holds a votive candle in his bill, and a brazen censer smokes before 
the gilded Buddha. Passing worshippers strike the bronze bells 
irith a deer's antler, and throw their perforated rin (the tenth of a 
penny) on the white mat of the scarlet platfonn, the polished surface 
reflecting the golden glory of the dusky shrine. The Buddhist 
devotee shows a more reverential spirit than his Shinto comrade, 
whose devorions consist in clapping the hands to attract the divine 
attention, and a short ejaculation to the Sun Goddess or her sub- 
ordinates, to increase his worldly prosperity or to punish his enemies. 
The reci^nition of those spiritual forces which build up conduct 
and character exalts Buddhism, though blurred with the mosslike 
accretions of centuries, far beyond the mundane shallowness of 
Shinto belief. Gaily dressed pilgrims from distant provinces roam 
through the courts, gazing in wonder at the black and red temples 
with the colossal Ni-o of menacing aspect who guard the splendours 
■within ; the demons which figure largely in Japanese faith being 
impressed into the service of the gods to frighten evil-doeis from the 
holy places. The main temples contain State rooms for the use of 
the Shogun, the screens exquisitely painted with storks, peacocks, 
and impressionist landscapes. A private chapel belongs to the 
fiuite of austerely simple apartments, which include a chamber for the 
oSerii^ to three mysterious local deities, enthroned on the moon- 

Mountain Shriftes of Japan. 119 

sattlemented walls, and the velvet moss cushioning broken 
balustrade, carpeting mouldering steps, and mantling stone lanterns 
with emerald verdure, suggest the age-long haunt of Tengon, God 
of Dreams, and idealise this solemn resting-place in the green heart 
of Nature's temple, the shrine not made with hands. Statues, altars, 
and moss-grown lombs lie buried in dense foliage. A rugged path- 
way of grey slabs and boulders winds into the forest depths, the 
broad curb-stones fringed with fern. The handiwork of man in no 
way lessens the loveliness of this green retreat, for Nature clasps all 
in her close embrace, flinging her tangled garlands over terrace, parapet, 
and stair, claiming them for her own. The red Sannomiya temple 
nestling among the trees is sought by mothers whose prayers for their 
children are typified by a multitude of wooden blocks thrown at the 
feet of Jizo, guardian of infants, his beneficent face looming through 
the dark shadows of projecting eaves. A sacred stone, inscribed with 
Chinese characters, beneath the veil of verdure, needs but the touch of 
faith to render it a safeguard from evil fortune, and a weeping girl in 
gay travelling garb of red and violet prostrates herself before it, laying 
her brown hands on the mossy surface. Little scarlet torii point 
out foi^otten shrines among the reddening brambles of the matt«d 
undergrowth, and a wandering vine wreathes the memorial tablet 
over the grave of leyasu's favourite horae, set free in the mountains 
of Nikko at his master's death, and roaming for thirty years in the 
sacred forests. Marvel and miracle haunt the precincts of a crystal 
pool, supposed to change its waters into " sakf" at the bidding of 
the forest gods, and three black spires of cryplomeria encircled by 
the Shinto rope and fringe of rice-straw are dedicated to these 
hamadryads of the East. A peasant woman, carrying a shaven-pated 
baby on her back, mutters a spell, and takes an amulet-box from the 
wide sleeve of her blue " kimono," as she passes a bronze lantern, 
green with damp and lichen, for the mass of graven metal is credited 
with the power of transforming itself into a demon at nightfall, and 
glaring with fiery eyes on rash intruders. The solitary lantern 
occasionally lighted at dusk explains the mystery, but Japanese 
fancy embroiders the common texture of daily life with myriad 
marvels. Near this haunted spot the Prince Abbots of Nikko are 
laid to rest among the whispering pines which murmur their eternal 
secret round the forest graves. Poetic thought traces an allegorical 
connection between the graduated splendour of the temples and the 
career of the deified Shoguns, a triumphal procession up to the very 
gates of death. Deeper and deeper we plunge into the green gloom ; 
a white cascade falls from a temple-crowned cliff, rippling brooks 




I30 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

lose themselves in Teatheiy nests of pale-green maidenhair, or vanish 
amid the dark shadows of the pines, but the dieamhke voice of 
flowing water, which fills the woods with drowsy melody, only 
enhances their lulling charm. A battered image of Buddha, with 
a pink bib tied round his neck, sits by the wayside, a little bowl of 
rice, a faded lotus, and a smouldering incense-stick, indicating some 
occult virtue attributed to the crumbling statue. Recumbrat figures 
he in the brake, a weird-looking god peers from the red arch of a 
mouldering shrine, but festoons of wild wistaria cUmb over him and 
prevent recognition of his personality. A thatched temple on a rock 
contains ex-votos of iron sandals and straw " waiaji," bung up by 
wrestlers, who frequent this rustic sanctuary to pray for strength of 
limb before engaging in the spring and autumn contests of the 
national sport The hill above the Daigawa river commands an 
imposing view of the temples, with their curving eaves and steep 
roofs embosomed in the sombre forest Notwithstanding the sur- 
passing splendour of these mountain shrines they fitly symbcdise the 
Nature-worship which strikes the keynote of \ht Japanese creed. 
The plain white woodwork of the main edifice underlies every giace 
of carving and glory of lacquer. The glossy thatch of cypress-bark, 
and the rude logs of ndge-pole and rafters, derive their barbaric 
simplicity from the sylvan architecture of the aboriginal hut The 
sacred groves, with their colossal pines and camphor-trees of incal- 
culable antiquity, were originally merely intended for the repair or 
rebuilding of the perishable sanctuaries, continually renewed in a 
bumid and variable climate, though their ancient type recalls the 
dateless past of an earlier world. Through a long vista of vanished 
centuries we look back into the dimness of long-past ages and trace 
in the curvilinear contours of these forest temples a shadowy memorial 


WHO thai has watched from the deck of a swift steamship, as 
she ploughs a straight furrow through the trackless sea, can 
ever forget the remarkably beautiful displays of phosphorescent glows 
afforded by countless myriads of minute sea-creatures ? Every 
revolution of the ponderous propeller chums the surface of old 
ocean into an effulgence that impresses itself indelibly upon the 
memory of the astonished gazer ; every sea that is parted by the 
advancing prow of the vessel is tipped, like the sword of Gylippus, 
with fire that bums but does not consume ; and then, at last, moved 
by the mysterious nature of the spectacle, the lover of Shelley's verse 
will fully grasp the meaning of the poet's allusion to this weird 
phenomenon : 

While the surf, like a chaos of stars, like a rout 
Of dea(h-6a(nei, like whirlpools of Gre-flowing iron. 
With splendour and terror the black ship environ, 
Or, like snlphut-flaket burled hrom a mine of pale lire. 
In [ountains spout o'er it. 

Under certain conditions of wind and weather, in tropical regions 
more especially, the sea is a very blaze of phosphorescence by night. 
\Vhen the stars are pulsating in the celestial concave, but the moon 
is hidden from view, the lustre of the sea vies with, and occasionally 
puts to shame, the glories of the heavens. Every ripple, however 
tiny it may be, bears a brilliant but unearthly light upon its crest - 
the horizon cannot be clearly distinguished by reason of the silvery 
sheen of the sea surface ; and the ship's wake appears to be a broad 
avenue glowing like molten metal Sitting well aft, the rapt beholder 
may easily read the ordinary print of a newspaper solely by the aid 
of this vivid illumination, which throws the sails and rigging into 
lights and shadows for some distance from the snow-white deck. 
Some have inferred thai the abysses of the ocean are rendered 
habitable by the phosphorescent light emitted by the curiously 
tpectalised fauna, specimens of which are at intervals brought to the 
Eurfitce by the deep-sea sounding machines of the world's sur\'eying 

VOL. ccxcvn. NO. ao84. j 

122 The Genilemaris Magazine. 

ships; although Shakespeare, in an inimitable passage of "King 
Richard III.," inclined to the poetical view that the lowest depths 
of the deep sea were strewn with treasures of all kinds, " inestunable 
stones, unvalued jewels," some of which lay in dead men's skulls as 
though for lighting purposes. 

And in those holes 
Where eyes did once iohatut, there were crept 
(A* 'Inere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems 
That wooed the slimj bottom of the deep, 
And mocked the dead bones which Uijr M*tteted by. 

Around the shores of the United Kingdom, during the nights of 
our short summer holiday for example, we may often observe this 
illumination of the sea by the lowliest of all the dwellers in the 
waters of the oceans. In " Westward Ho ! " we find Charles 
Kingsley introducing his heroine, perplexed to her very heart's 
centre, endeavouring to draw away the veil from the future, assisted 
thereto by a wise woman of the neighbourhood who traded on the 
credulity of her gentle clients. Fearful and shuddering, but mindful 
of instructions, the maiden stripped off her clinging garments, 
waded hastily into the water, lest her conscience should become too 
assertive at the final moment, and stood still in sheer amazement 
" A ring of flame was round her waist ; every limb was bathed in a 
lambent light ; all the multitudinous life of the autumn sea, stirred 
by her approach, had flashed suddenly into glow." 
And around her the lamps of the sea-nymphs. 
Myriad fiery globes, swam heading tod panting, and rainbows. 
Crimson and azure and emerald, were broken in star.showers, %hting 
Far through the wine.dark depths of the crystal, the gardens of Nereos, 
Coral and sea-&n and tangle, the blooms and the palm* of the ocean. 

ned by 

ill-fated J 

rface as ^H 

Live Sea-lights. 

An expectant person, gifted with a perfervid imagination and 
believing in the legend, might easily feel convinced that some 
struggling ship, on the boundary line of sea and sky, environed by 
countless phosphorescent gleams, was the wtaiih of the ill- 
" Palestine." 

A monopoly of descriptive narrative, however, does not 
to poets. The late Charles Reade once refers to the sea surface as 
"a million dimples of liquid, lucid gold," which is not at all bad for 
cold prose ; and, on a stormier occasion, he gave a word-painting of 
this phenomenon of nature when " the overwhelming sea ran in dark 
watery mountains crested with devilish fire." England's sailor-poet, 
William Falconer, told of how in a gale 

High o'er the poop the audacious seas aspire, 
Upiolled in hills of Auclualing fire. 

The late Mrs. Brassey, in her interesting "Log of the Sunbeam," 
describes a most beautiful example of a phosphorescent sea which 
she observed when off Lisbon in that famous yacht which circum- 
navigated the globe under the command of the owner, Mr., now 
Lord, Brassey. The night was stormy, and the sea all around 
looked Uke molten gold, lit to such a depth that thousands of fish 
could be distinctly discerned darting away like coroets on every 
hand. The illustrious Darwin, in that interesting "Journal" in 
which he set forth the circumstances connected with his voyages on 
the " Adventure " and the " Beagle," has left to posterity a dehghtful 
description of an experience in tropical waters when "the sea 
presented a wonderful and most beautiful spectacle." Everj' portion 
of the surface glowed with a pale light, " the vessel drove from her 
bows two billows of hquid phosphorus, and in her wake she was 
followed by a milky train. As far as the eye reached the crest of 
every wave was bright, and the sky above the horizon, from the 
reflected glare of these livid flames, was not so utterly obscure as 
over the rest of the heavens." Captain S, Samuel, who later made 
the record passage between Sandy Hook and Queenstown with the 
American semi-clipper "Dreadnought," has described in his auto- 
biography a most gorgeous phosphorescent display which he had 
the good fortune to witness at Batavia. Boats from the Dutch 
warships, then in port, were engaged in towing Captain Samuel's 
sailing-ship clear of the land, and the stout ash oars kept true time 
as a hundred lusty voices kept tunc in a rollicking nautical chorus, 
As the blades dipped into the water the boats seemed to be floating 
on liquid silver, and innumerable diamonds appeared to drop from 



124 The GentUmaiis Magaeitu. 

tbem each time they were raised in order to take the next Etroke. 
As though to enhance the enchantment of the scene, the sharks 
which infest Batavia Bay shot hither and thither, leaving streaks in 
the water comparable only to flashes of forked lightning traversing 
a galaxy of scintillating stars. Sir Wyville Thomson, when off the 
Cape Verdes in H.M.S. "Challenger," found it an easy matter to 
read the smallest print in his cabin solely by the phosphorescent 
tight afforded without stint by the animalcula drifting past the ship 
on the sea surface. A giant pyrosoma brought up by the deep-sea 
trawl of the "Challenger" was utilised by Professor Moseley as an 
object-lesson. He wrote his name with his linger upon its exposed 
part "as it lay in a tub at night, and the name came out in a few 
seconds in letters of fire." Four years ^o, in this geographical 
position, the ss. " Moravian," Captain A. Simpson, found the sea 
led as blood for forty miles while daylight lasted, caused by the 
smallest of animalcula. At night the whole surface of the sea was 
a blaze of phosphorescent light. About the same date, half-way 
between Socotra and Ceylon, the P. & O, palatial liner "China," 
Captain T. S. Angus, passed through several very remarkable 
phosphorescent patches on the sea surface. As she approached 
each spot it was instantaneously illuminated over an area of many 
square yards, and the lambent light spread with inconceivable 

Midway between Africa and South America, on the equator, these 
lights that are alive very often make manifest thdr presence, and 
gladden the hearts of the massed mariners. In order to determine 
the cause of a vivid phosphorescent display, a bucket of water was 
drawn from over the vessel's side. It was found to contain many 
thousands of bag-like "jelly-fish," each about the size of a man's 

Live Sea-lights. 125 

witnessed at sea. It is alleged that this beautiful phenomenon is 
merely a phase of disease ; or, as it were, a kind of swan-song in 
light and colour. A " pathogenic and luminiferous bacterium " does 
to death the marine animalcula concerned ; and, while the latter are 
shaking off this mortal coil, and for some time afterwards, they give 
off that brilliant phosphorescent light which is so entertaining to 
passengers and to the hardy toilers of the deep sea. 

Less frequent, and perhaps less attractive, but certainly more un- 
canny, is the so-called " white-water " met with in various parts of the 
world, although more especially noticeable in the Arabian Sea. 
Suddenly, as though the wonders of the " Arabian Nights " were to be 
demonstrated as true, the good ship seems to be gliding over a white 
cloud and the stillness approximates to that of death. The siurface 
of the surrounding medium that bathes the vessel's graceful hull is 
like milk, and dazzles the unshaded eye as it were a sea of quick- 
silven Captain Kingman, of the American ship " Shooting Star," has 
left a vivid word-picture of the fairy-like environment of his vessel 
while sailing a distance of twenty-five miles. Scarcely a cloud was 
visible, stars of the first magnitude twinkled timorously in the sky, 
and the milky way overhead was almost eclipsed by that through 
which she travelled so silently. ''The scene was one of awful 
grandeur ; the sea having turned to phosphorus, the heavens being 
hung in blackness, and the stars going out, seemed to indicate that 
all nature was preparing for that last conflagration which we are 
taught to believe is to annihilate the material world." During this 
display the " Shooting Star " was about two hundred miles south-west 
of Batavia. A similar illumination was witnessed by all on board 
the H.E.I. Company's sloop-of-war "Clive," on the way from 
Bombay to the Persian Gulf. Sailing ten miles an hour before a 
strong south-west monsoon, the ship was suddenly surrounded, one 
night, by water white as milk or the driven snow. The sea, hitherto 
high and unruly, became instantaneously smooth, although the wind- 
force remained as before the event This milk-white water ** seemed 
to have no termination until it reached an altitude of 70^ or 80°, 
where it subsided in a strongly marked ecliptic, above which the 
heavens presented a beautiful and bright bluish cast, not dissimilar 
to polished steel. No line of horizon was visible ; the dead-white 
colour of the water close to the ship, as it increased in distance from 
her, very gradually brightened, until, where I supposed the horizon 
to be, it assumed a silvery aspect, which increased as it ascended, 
became brilliant and dazzling towards the zenith, obscuring the stars 
and clcuds, which had before this visitation been distinctly visible.** 

126 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

Living lights were not observable either in the suirounding ocean or 
in the water disturbed by the ship herself; but water diawn from 
aton^ide in a bucket contained animalcula and a gelatinous 
substance of a purple colour. The " Clive " sailed fifteen miles 
without chan^ng the appearance of either sea or sky, when, in the 
twinkle of an eye, the extraordinary natural phenomenon vanished 
as utterly as though it had never been, and the sea became as 
turbulent as just prior to entering the zone of white-water. Lieu- 
tenant Dawson's description, above quoted, leaves little to desire, 
In November 1880 the steamship " Lamperts," bound from Aden 
to the Persian Gulf, passed through white-water on several successive 
nights ; and doubtless it was also present on the intervening days, but 
invisible. This curious phenomenon was noticed a long distance 
ahead, seeming like the ice-blink of the polar r^ons ; it lit up the 
horizon to an altitude of 4°, and was not phosphorescent She 
steamed fifty miles through one patch without a break, and, on 
leaving it, the " blink " showed just as plainly astem as it previously 
did ahead. Between Aden and Bombay the old-time sailing-ship 
" Maiia Soames " enjoyed a similar experience. She suddenly ran 
into a milk-white sea which seemed as chough oil had been poured 
upon it ; and the water was found to contain myriads of living sea- 
creatures, each about one-tenth of an inch in length, and looking tike 
pieces of horsehair. More recently, the steamship " Gordon Castle " 
bad a sea so white that she appeared to be steaming over a vast icy 
plain. Such milk-white water is often found to be merely on the 
surface, inasmuch as a bucket let fall thereon makes a dark place. 
In November 1885, at the entrance of the Persian Gulf, H.M.S. 
" Reindeer " observed a very strange sight Flashes of lorid light 
travelled in wondrous naves with great rapidity over the surface and 

Live Sea-ltghts. 


ladow WJLS given. On pouring the water back inlo the 
sea from the diaw-buckei, it resembled pouring on molten lead, or 
stirring a caldron. The wake of the ship, stretching right astern 
to the limit of the horizon, was of a greenish luminous colour, the 
whole sea presenting a most awe-inspiring spectacle." 

As the steamship " Kilwa," Captain Whitehead, was leaving the 
Persiaj) Gulf, at 8 o'clock on the night of April 4, 1901, the officer 
of the watch called the commander's attention to a peculiar appear- 
ance of the sea-surface. Great waves of vapour seemed to rush [last 
the steamer at the almost incredible rate of sixty miles a minute ! 
There was not any phosphorescence, except at the instant that each 
wave passed the bridge ; and then the water seemed covered with 
star-like specks as though a handful of pebbles had been thrown into 
quiescent phosphorus. The vapour-like waves were comparable to 
a field of gold-ripe corn over which a strong breeze was passing, 
depressing the ears in long waves and thus causing light and dark 
lines. The sky was cloudless, and the distant high land clearly 

Each puny wave in diamonds lolled 

O'er the calm deep, where hues of gold 

held spell-bound the cosmopolitan crew. In a few minutes the waves 
changed their direction ; and, instead of coming from the south-east, 
towards which point of the compass she was steaming, now came 
from the south, and quickly from the south-west, It was then 
noticed that the centre of the disturbance was close to the ship, as 
there appeared to be a circular dark [latch whence the waves were 
darling in every direction. This display lasted fifteen minutes, and 
gradually died out A somewhat similar experience was recorded by 
Captain Pearson, of the steamer " Strath leven," in 1881. Juslat the 
entrance to Aden Bay a species of luminous vapour was observed 
gyrating on the sea-surface ; the zone being about three hundred 
yards broad, and connected with extremely luminous water to the 
eastward. Last September, somewhat to the eastward of the above 
position, the P. & O. steamship "Australia," Captain Cole, found 
the sea-surface covered with a luminous haze, apparently due to 
ph osph orescence. 

Both the brilliant blaze, and the " white -water," so often fallen in 
with by ships at sea, appear to be due to phosphorescence. In the 
one case the result is as though myriads of fire-flies or glow-worms 
were resting on old ocean's surface ; and, in the other case, the , 
result is as though a huge mass of phosphorus were excited by fric- 
tion in the dark. The phenomenon, in either case, is a most attract 


138 Th4 Gentleman's Magazine, 

tive featuie of marine life with respect to the drifting organisms of 
the upper layen of the sea, or plankton, as they are collectively termed. 
Infusoria, Crustacea, medusae, molluscs, echinodenns, polypes, tuni- 
cates, rhizopods, and similar low forms of marine life, are admittedly 
phosphorescent ; but the chief cause of the phosphorescent displays 
observed at sea is probably ttaceable to a minute organism known 
as the noctiluca miliaris. Many sea-water bacteria are also alleged 
to be luminous under certain conditions. Numerous instances might 
be added with respect to both the kinds of phosphorescent seas — 
the sparkling and the milk-white — but sufficient has been written to 
indicate the curious appearances of the sea-surface at times and also 
some of the causes thereof in so far as they are given by men of 
science who have made a serious study of this singularly interesting 
luminous display afforded by organisms dwelling on the sea-surface. 



MANY of the old mercantile firms of London are probably of a 
much higher anliquily than they care, through the absence ' 
of documentary evidence, to claim. The necessity for destroying 
an accumulation of books that must have been regarded in the light 
only of so much useless lumber, and the loss of others in the devastat- 
ing Fire of 1666, robbed many of them of such evidence, as to their 
earlier existence, as their ledgers would otherwise afford. For book- 
keeping, even by double entry, had, long before the Great Fire, become 
a systematised art. An old treatise, first published in 1543 by a 
schoolmaster, Hugh Oldcastle, and republished in 1588, entitled "A 
Briefe Instruction— to keep bookes of Accompts," etc.. Is prefaced 
by an epistle to the reader by the author, who says ; " And know ye 
for certaine ... I am the reneuer and reviver of an auncient old 
copie, printed here in London the 14 of August, 1543, ... by one 
Hugh Oldcastle." ' Beckmann believed that this work contained the 
true principles of book-keeping by double entry, which, however, as 
late as 1569, was undoubtedly new in England, though it had long 
been practised in other countries,' As the following notes relate 
principally to the old druggists, chemists, and medicine dealers of 
London, I may here allude to an Act of 34 & 35 King Henry VIII,, 
by which it was "ordained, established, and enacted by the authority 
of this present parliament, that at all time from henceforth it shall be 
lawful to every person being the King's subject, having knowledge 
and experience of the nature of herbs, roots, and waters, to practise, 
use, and minislcr such herbs, etc., for divers specified wounds and 
maladies, everywhere within the King's dominions, without suit, vexa- 
tion, trouble, penalty, the foresaid statute" {3 Hen. VIII. c. ir, 
giving a monopoly to the surgeons and physicians) "or any other 
to Ihc contrary heretofore made in any wise notwithstanding." This 

' Ames's Typeg. AnIiquilUs, 1786. vol. IL p. IM7- 
' AnderaoD's Hiil. of Commirn, vqI, i. p, 409, 

130 The Gentlematis Magazitu. 

Act, no doubt, vastly improved the commercial status, not only of 
the apothecaries who kept shops foT the sale of drugs, but also of 
the vendors of so-called " quaclc " medicines, many of which were 
evidently not what is now understood by " quack " medicines, or they 
would not have survived, as they do, to the present day. But the 
large firms who own them do not advertise, and consequently they 
aie not as well known as fonnerly. Such, for instance, is that truly 
wonderful survival, " Daffy's Elixir," " Bateman's Pectoral Drops," 
and others. But with legard to the antiquity of the finns who are 
vendors of these old nostrums, and of London pharmacies generally, 
it is claimed for that of Messrs. Beedzler & Co., operative chemists at 
the "Golden Key" in Norton Folgate, Bishopsgate Without, that 
theirs, dating from 1700, is the oldest in their particular trade. This 
however, can hardly, ad unguem, be said to be the case, even though 
the comparison be confined to retail businesses, for Messrs. Corbyn's 
old stone sign of the " Bell and Dragon," found on their late premises 
in the Poultry nearly forty years ago, when they succeeded Edward 
Winstanley & Sons, certainly dates from not later than the seven- 
teenth century, and is consequently well calculated to dispute for its 
owners any such claim to precedence.' For it must be remembered 
that these carved stone signs, several of which bear a date immediately 
subsequent to that of the Great Fire, were put up in place of the more 
destructible ones consumed then, rendering it certain that theii 
owners existed in business for some length of time, however indefinite, 
anterior to that event. 

The merits of this claim to precedence may, I think, be equally 
apportioned — as there can at present be no absolute certainty in tbe 
matter — between Messrs. Corbyn ; Messrs Homer, of Mitre SquarCi 
Aldgate, thewholesatedruggists; and Messrs. Sutton, Patent Medicine 

The Ancient Mercantile Houses of London. 131 

of his connections, John Sadler and Richard Quyney, were grocers 
and druggists at the Red Lion in Bucklersbury.^ It may 
not be amiss to mention here other Bucklersbury trade signs 
that have come within one's ken. "Toy shops" were popular 
repositories for the sale of nostrums in the eighteenth century. So 
the '* Griffin" was, as early as 1709, the sign of a Mr. Lawrence, 
toyman, at the Poultry corner of Bucklersbury, who sold " A Perfect 
Cure for the Asthma by an Elixir (a pleasant and innocent 
Medicine)," etc., but he is so vague in his description of it that it 
would have been better, perhaps, if Queen Anne's subjects had let it 
alone.* It turns up again, however, at the " Griffin," next door to 
the "Bolt and Tun," in Fleet Street, in 1728, as "The Incompar- 
able Chymical Drops for Asthmas and Consumptions." ' In 1721-22 
a Mr. Lockton seems to have succeeded Lawrence, and sold a 
much^vertised " Chymical Liquor for the Hair." * In 1729 a Mr. 
Sandwell succeeded Lockton, his brother-in-law, and still continued 
to "puff" the "True Original Chymical Liquor for the Hair."* 
Sandwell now advertises " The Great Restorative in all Hysterick 
Diseases, whether. Hypochondriac Melancholy in Men or Vapours in 
Women," etc.* The sale of tobacco was carried on in Bucklersbury 
at a time when it was regarded in the light of a somewhat scarce 
drug, and its purchase was commensurately expensive, and the cir- 
cumstance is alluded to in Ben Jonson's " Bartholomew Fair." ^ "I 
thought he would have run mad o' the Black Boy in Bucklersbury, 
that takes the scurvy, roguy tobacco there." 

The stone sign of the " Three Kings," now preserved in the 
City Museum, is from Bucklersbury, and was perhaps put up by 
an apothecary in allusion to the precious offerings of frankincense 
and myrrh which the three Magi, or Kings, as they were called, pre- 
sented in homage to the infant Saviour, and also in allusion to the 
aromatic herbs, for the sale of which Bucklersbury was famous. This 
stone relief was in position over the front-floor window of No. 7.* 
A few years ago there was not one druggist left in Bucklersbury, 
upon part of which Queen Victoria Street was laid out, but since 
then Mr. Waring, chemist, has established himself there as a 

• Sec Transactions of the Middx, Arch, Society ^ vol. iii. p. 578. 

• Toiler^ Dec. 22, 1709. ■ Craftsman^ Aug. 4, 1728. 

• Wuhly Journal^ Sept. 23, 1 721, and the London Journal, July 7, 1722. 
» Fog's Wuklyjoum, Oct. 25, 1729. 

• Craftsman, Dec. 27, 1729. * Act I. sc. i. 

• An illostrmtion of this stone carving may be seen in the fifth volume of the 
Puhlkaii^ns of the Antipiarian Etching Club (plate xxiv.). 

13a The Genilefnan's Magazine. 

successor to Corbyn's business in the Poultry. Previously to Ae 
purchase of Burkitt & Winstanley's by Corbyn & Co., in 1865, the 
former business can be traced back to the other side of the Great Fire 
in 1 666, an event with which their interesting stone sign is undoubtedly 
identified. Homers were the last of the old druggists to withdraw 
from Bucklersbury, in 1S78. Of this street Stow says that, in his 
time, " the whole of it, on both sides throughout, is possessed of 
grocers and apothecaries." Later, according to R. B. in Strype's 
" Stow," it was inhabited " especially by Drugsters andFurriers." Mr. 
John Homer became a member of the firm about the year 1750, 
and since his death the business has been continued by three suc- 
cessive generations of the family, bringing it down to the present 
time. Mr. Edward Horner was one of the original founders of the 
Pharmaceutical Society. 

With r^ard to Beedzler's, it is claimed as a tradition of the 
business that, during the plague of London in i66j, a free medicine 
stall was opened in the Spital Market, and the drugs were supplied 
by the " Golden Key " dru^ist or apothecary of that day. But it 
may with certainty be said that Beedzler's was established in 1700. 
The name of Mr. Fouch, who succeeded the reputed founder of the 
firm, one Gilchrist, an herbalist, is among the list of benefacton to 
the Norton Folgate Girls' Charity School, instituted in 1703, aa ia 
that of Mrs. Fouch also. Mr. Fouch was succeeded by Messrs. 
French, who are also stated to have contributed largely to the sup- 
port of the school, one of the first charity schools established in 
London, very few of which existed prior to 1700.' The "Golden 
Key" is said to have been mentioned by both Dickens and 
Thackeray, but in what circumstances I have been unable to 

The Ancient Mercantile Houses of London. 133 

prietorshtp, and used to tabe his " pipe and glass " in the little 
Russell Street parlour. The great anatomist and surgeon, Dr. John 
Hunter, who " influenced the practice of medicine more than any 
man of his generation," was a customer from 1776 to 1790. An 
interesting account has been written by Mr. \VarTen himself, which 
sets forth the history of the house.' 

Messrs. Gorton & Sons, at the " Golden Sun," No, 146 While- 
chapel High Street, is another eighteen th- century druggist's, established 
in 1796 by Michael Colesworthy, who was succeeded by Samuel 
Cheshire, and is associated with memories of one of the most extra- 
ordinary men of his time, the celebrated Quaker physician, Dr. John 
I-eltsom, whose chief title to remembrance is perhaps his having 
been the original proprietor of that beneficent institution, the Sea- 
bathing Infirmary at Margate, so much benefited in later years by 
the philanthropy of Dr. Erasmus Wilson. The institution dates from 
1 791 or thereabouts. The present proprietor of the Golden Sun, 
Mr. Gorton, removed two doors west, to the present site, when the 
railway station was built on ihat of the old house, then No. 144 ; 
and Dr. Lettsom's pills as sold here were prepared from a 
private prescription of the doctor, who as a physician sometimes 
realised as much as £,\ 1,000 a year, By his liberality and philanthropy 
he earned the title of " Amicus Humani Generis." A list of his works 
wfllbefoundinthe"Dictionaryof National Biography." Dr. Lettsom's 
prescriptions were always signed " I. Lettsom," a habit which called 
forth an epigram which is said to have been displayed over his door 
when a country doctor. The sentiment of the fourth line is, however, 
not, I think, sufficiently humane to have come from him, and I am 
not speaking without my book in saying that the version in " Old 
and New London " is not the correct one ; it is there given as follows : 

When any patients call in haste, 
1 physics, bleeds, and sweats 'em. 

ir ariei Ihut the]' chooM to die. 
Why, what cares I ? 
I Icti 'em. 

But the late Mr. H. S. Cuming told me that his father was told 
by Dr. Lettsom himself that the lines really were : 


I blisters, bleeds, and tweats 'em- 
Ifificr that they please to die. 

Well, then I lets 'em. 

' In the CTimir/nfrf Z>niiTij/ (or January 3t, 1903. 

134 ^^ Gentleman's Magtmn*. 

The ration given by Mi. Gorton, the present proprietor of Uie 
" Golden Sun," is : 

I, John Letuom, 

Blitucs, ble«di, utd iwe«U 'em. 
ir after tlut thejr plcMC to die, 
I, John, lets 'em. 

The sign of the " Golden Sun," between the two first-floor windows 
of 146 Whitechapel High Street, is doabtless intended to represent 
the head, surrounded by beams of light, of Apollo, the God of Healing, 
as it appears in the arms of the Apothecaries' Company. 

At his hospitable house at the top of Grore Hill, Camberwell, 
" {aid out in the virtuoso style," Dr. Leltsom entertained some of the 
most eminent literati of the day, among whom was probably Sir 
Walter Scott, who inscribed one of his lesser poems to his hospitable 
friend, while Boswell was also a frequent visitor, he having, in 
an ode to Charles Dilly, celebrated at once the beauties of the 
physician's country seat and its owner's humane dispositioa. "The 
house, which was subsequently occupied by Mr. Charles Baldwin, of 
the ' Standard ' newspaper, commanded in front a view of London 
and Westminster, with the adjacent hills in Middlesex, and, behind, a 
prospect bounded only by the horizon of the rich region of Surrey 
and Kent, the thickly navigated Thames. . . . The doctor's cabinet of 
curiosities and his pleasure-grounds, laid out in a very origiiud style, 
were liberaUy left open to the inspection and entertainment of visitors, 
permission to view, on proper application, never being refused any 
respectable stranger." ^ 

But far older than the " Golden Sun," which was esttblisbed in 
1796, is the sign of the " Phcenix," which distinguished (until btely 
pulled down) an admirable example of domestic architecture Na 31 

The Ancient Mercantile Houses of London. 135 

father's laboratory, but were declared bankrupts in 1746.' The 
business, however, did not suffer in point of continuity ; and I was 
credibly informed some years ago by Mr. William Dart, the prede- 
cessor of the present Mr. Ernest Hume in its ownership, that the 
lucifer match was first made, so far as London is concerned, on 
his and Ambrose Godfrey's premises. The 6f?t English friction 
matches without phosphorus — "Congreves," as they were called, 
after Sir W. Congreve, Bart., the inventor of the Congreve hfe rocket 
— were invented by John Walker, of Stockton-on-Tees, in April 1827.' 
Faraday seems to have brought these friction matches into use. 
The credit of the invention of the present lucifer match rests 
apparently with Mr., later Sir, Isaac Holden. He narrates how he 
had to rise at four in the morning to pursue his studies in chemistry, 
and experienced the gravest inconvenience from his tedious efforts to 
obtain a light from flint and steel. He says : " Of course I knew, as 
Other chemists did, the explosive material that was necessary in order 
to produce instantaneous light ; but it was very difficult to obtain a 
light on wood by that explosive material, and the idea occurred to 
me to put under the explosive mixture sulphur. I did that, and 
published it in my next lecture, and showed it. There was a young 
man in the room, whose father was a chemist in London, and 
he immediately wrote to his father of it, and shortly afterwards 
lucifer matches were introduced to the world." It would be a 
matter of interest to know whether this young man came from 
what was formerly Godfrey & Cooke's place in Southampton Street 
Godfrey advertised the sale of Dr. Barker's Drops for Paralytick, 
Nervous, and Rheumatick Disorders and for Jaundice . . . prepared 
as communicated by Henry Rowe, Esq., of Bloomsbury Square, a 
near relation of the late Doctor.* In the same journal, however, 
imposition is hinted at in another advertisement by a Mrs. Chapman, 
the doctor's executrix, who claims that it was to her alone that the 
doctor left the original receipt, she having prepared this particular 
medidne for many years by the doctor's directions in his lifetime.* 
Godfrey's name occurs in the following paragraph : 

"A Patent hath lately passed the Great Seal, whereby his 
Majesty hath been pleased to grant unto Mr, Ambrose Godfrey, a 
chymist in Covent Garden, the sole privilege of making and vend- 
ing his new invented machines for extinguishing fires in houses 
and ships, etc., for the space of fourteen years," * 

' Ctnllrman'i Mag. x«i. 45. loS. See atso Ihe Did, af Nat. Bicg. 
' The Diet, ff AppHid Ckimistty, by Dr. T. E, Thorpe, 1891. 
' The Daily Admrtiicr, Oci. i. 1741- ' '*»^. 

• Wuhlyjimryi. Dec, 7. 1713. 




136 The GentUfnan's Magazine, 

The firm of Bainbridge & Found, at the sign of the " Golden 
Cross," 60 Leather Lane, Holbom, was founded in 1704. The 
old sign distinguishes a spacious if sombre double-fronted shop in 
the heart of Dickens-land. 

Messrs. John Bell & Co., pharmaceutical chemists, at No. 335 
Oxford Street and Hills Place, were first established in the year 1798 
by John Bell, a Quaker, whose interesting life-story has been re- 
printed in pamphlet form.* In the counting-bouse is an etching c^ 
the Oxford Street laboratory by Mr. R. W. Macbeth, who has lately 
been dected to membership of the Royal Academy. By its side is 
another engraving of the laboratory as it was originally, after the 
painting by W. Hunt, R.A.— " Billy Hunt," as he was familiarly 
known. This is of a date somewhere between 1850 and 1859. 

The old trade-mark of Messrs. Allen & Hanburys, a plough 
accompanied by the date 1715, the year in which the firm is said to 
have been first established, must be familiar to many who have had 
occasion to invoke the aid of medicine. It was, no doubt, suggested 
as a trade mark by their long connection with Plough Court, 
Lombard Street, where Timothy and Silvanus Bevan, the founders of 
the firm, were in partnership, although the latter was previously in 
business in Queen Street, Cheapside. The history of the firm 
affords much that is of interest in the records of pbamtacy and 
philant^tpy. The " Life of William Alien, with Selections of bis 
Correspondence," published in three volumes by Charles Gilpin in 
1846, is based upon his Diary, begun in 1788.* In his chemical 
investigation, William Allen, who, like Corbyn, Bell, and many 
others connected with the healing art in the eighteenth century, was a 
Quaker, demonstrated that the diamond was of pure carbon, and in 
conjunction with Mr. Pepys proved the propordon of carbon in 

The Ancieni Mercantile Houses of London. 137 

Mr.T. F. Savory took into partnership an apothecary named Moor^ 
whence the familiar style of Savory & Moore. 

An extremely old firm of wholesale druggists is that of Hearon, 
Squire & Francis, now of Southwark Street, i.e. since 1890, but 
established in Bishopsgate in 17 14. Probably Ihey go back earlier 
than that, for, sixty years before, a Widow Kirk resided in the same 
house for which in 1714, Kirk, apothecary and wholesale druggist, 
paid the tithes. There is, however, no documentary proof thai the 
widow was related to the apothecary, and for that reason ihe firm is 
content to claim a continuous history from 1714. Between 1800 
and 1840 the house was known consecutively as Hearon, Bright 
& Thompson ; Bright & Johnson ; and Hearon, Bright & 
McCulIoch. Mr. Bright was the father of the eminent telegraphist. 
Sir Charles Bright. From the roof of the Southwark premises, 
which is utilised for oil -bleaching, may be had a splendid view of ihc 
City of London. One of the old leather bottles, called " duppers," 
(about five gallons capacity), used for the storing of essential oils 
and also of castor-oil, which was imported from India in the old 
days, is one of the remnants of the past among Messrs. Hearou's 

Closely allied originally to the druggist were the perfumer and 
the snuff-dealer, and their trade cognizance of the " Civet Cat " must 
have been well known to the dandies of the Elizabethan and Stuart 
periods, as well as to those of the Augustan age of Queen Anne ; for 
civet is mentioned by Du Bartas, Shakespeare, and Massinget in 
terms of more or less contempt as a foppish conceit : 
The iwent-swccl civet, deaily fetch'd ftom fut 
For courtieis nice, past Indian Tamassar,' 

Among the changes in Benedick's appearance Pedro of Arragoo 
notices that " he rubs himself with civet. Can you smell him out 
by that ? " To which Claudio adds, " That's as much as to say the 
sweet youth's in love."' 

Ladf, I would deicend to kUi your hand 

But that 'lis gloved, and civet makes n: 

The sign of the " Civet Cat " is said to be common to the whole 
of Europe, the musk obtained from the animal being universally 
used in Ihe composition of perfumes. The principal surviving 
instance of the sign, and the one that is of most interest, in London is 
' The CkemitI and Driiggii/, Mar. 31, iSqii, pp. 399-401 . 
' Du Bartai, Divini tVetiei (Joshua Sylvester), 6ih day, ut week. 
' AfueA Alio, Act III. bc. ii. I. Jo. *(?) Masiingcr. 

VOL. CCXCVII. HO. 2084. I 



I vol 

138 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

a carved representation over the entrance, and a painted one on the 
premises within, of No. 17 Cockspur Street, a very old established 
perfumer's, Bayley & Co., whose painted sign bears the date 1739 
Their original great painted signboard which hung outside majr be 
mentioned here as an instance of the fate which often befell others 
when the use of such signs was authoritatively condemned. It was 
oval shaped, and was first, from 1820 to 1S33, used as a table in a 
summer-house at Hampstead, and afterwards for the same purpose 
in the garden of the Rectory house at Nuthurst, near Horsham, 
Sussex, from 183a to 1840. The "Ess. Bouquet," a perfume which 
was the peculiar favourite of Geo^e the Fourth, is still exclu- 
sively prepared by Bayley & Co. For the curious manner in 
which the civet is obtained from the animals, see " Narrative of 
Travels in Northern Africa, in the years 1818, 1S19, and iSao," by 
Capt G. F. Lyon, R.N. There was a " Young Civet Cat," the sign 
of a snuff dealer in New Round Court, Strand.' Another of the 
" Civet Cat," a perfumer's " over against Bow Church, Cbeapside," * 
The "Civet Cat and Rose "was the sign of a Mr. Rothwell, New 
Bond Street, who sold " English coffee. This invaluable restorative, 
. . , which is a balsamic extracted from a variety of the choicest 
aromatic plants and herbs, and also barks, ... for every species of 
consumptive and nervous complaints, etc. etc."' The "Civet Cat 
and Rose " was still the sign of a perfumer at 47 New Bond Street 
in 1803.* The "Civet Cat and Star" was the sign of another 
perfumer, William Mackala, in the Pall Mall ; ' and Child's Bank 
stands on the site of a perfumer's with the sign of the " Civet Cat." ' 
The only two other instances of the sign, besides that of Bayley & Co., 
in London that survive to-day are those of Mr, Charles Morrell, of 
Nos. 60 and 61 Burlington Arcade, and of a public-house at the 

The AnciSfU Mercantile Houses of London. 1 39 

and ** Tatlers." ^ In *< Tatler** 92 he says, " I am a perfumer, at the 
comerof Beaufort Buildings, in the Strand." Two volumes of original 
letters sent to the "Tatler" and ** Spectator," and not inserted, 
were published by Charles Lillie in 1 725. In the " Daily Advertiser " 
of Feb. 4, 1742, Lillie advertises 

" Persian Soap, in Pots and Boxes, 

For lathering the head and face with a brush instead of the hand, 
by which the dabbling about the face with the hand of a servant, etc., 
is avoided. 

"This soap makes a strong, smooth, and creamy lather, has an 
agreeable smeU, but not perfum'd, and is entirely freed from those 
sharp and poignant salts which in other soap cause a fretting and 
smart after being shav'd. 

"To be sold only by Charles Lillie, Perfumer, at the corner of 
Beaufort Buildings, in the Strand. 

"Note, True Naples Soap, also the finest double Lavender Water, 
true French, Hungary, and Montpelier, the King's Honey-water, made 
to the highest perfection, and all sorts of snuff and perfumes, wholesale 
and retail" 

Nearly opposite, " at the comer of Burleigh Street, next Exeter 
Exchange," Lillie must have had a rival in a Mr. Parry, Perfumer, who 
there sold 

"... An oil drawn from Mustard Seed (chiefly) and other vege- 
tables. It is pectoral, stomatick, and nephretick, provokes an 
appetite and urine : it heals all internal impostumes, is good against 
shortness of breath, opens obstructions of the lungs, cures coughs 
and asthmas, expels wind powerfully, and infallibly takes away 
stitches in the breast : it is good in all cold distempers of the nerves, 
as palsies, &c., and eases pains of the gout Externally us'd, it helps 
cold swellings, clears the skin from scabs, scurf, and freckles, and 
restores the complexion after the small-pox. Note, it is much more 
effectual in pleurisies than linseed oil, two ounces being the largest 
dose ; besides, it is of a pleasant and agreeable taste. Price sixpence 
an ounce." ' 

Among the many remarkable circumstances connected with the 
firm of Newbery & Sons, patent-medicine dealers, in Charterhouse 
Square, is that of the present proprietors being the lineal descendants 
through four generations of the famous John Newbery, who published 
Goldsmith's "Vicar of Wakefield" upon the poet's introduction to 

> N08. 93, 94, loi, 103, and 259. 

' The IViikly Packit, May 17 and Nov. 22, 17x8. 


140 The GeniUmads Magasuu. 

the publisher by Johnson, an historic incident in the annals of lltera< 
ture depicted on the stationery used on the ptemises. John Newbery 
was the publisher, too, of those children's books which are now worth 
their weight in gold ; and perhaps it will be of interest to give here an 
advertisement relating to them : 

" This day was published, 

Price only Sixpence, neatly bound and gilt 

(Being the largest as well as most entertaining Book for Children evec 

yet published at the price). 

" A pretty book of pictures throughout, with an easy and pleasant 
description of each in verse and prose, for little masters and misses ; 
or, 'Tommy Trip's History of Beasts and Birds,' to which is added 
the history of little Tom Trip himself, of his dog Joulei, and of Wog- 
log the great giant ; and other puerile amusements. 

" Printed for J. Newbery, in S. Paul's Churchyard, opposite the 
north door ; J. Hodges on London Bridge ; and B. Collins in Salis- 

It was at his " medicinal warehouse," at the north-east comer of 
Ludgate Hill, at the sign of the " Bible and Sun," that he sold patent 
medicines, like Greenough's Tinctures, and Dr. James's Powder, 
sadly associated with the death of Goldsmith. Thomas Greenough 
was a chemist and druggist at No. ro Ludgate Hill, who was suc- 
ceeded by Robert Hayward ; but this business appears to be extinct. 
A document in the possession of Messrs. Newb^ is the agreement 
between John Newbery, great-grand&ther of the present partners, and 
Robert Raikes of Gloucester (of Sunday-school fame), disclosing 
the secret of making Bateman's Pectoral Drops, a famous medidne 
still " on the market," of which the father of Robert Baikes was 

The Ancient Mercantile Houses of London. 141 ■! 

of Griffith & Farran, has issued a brochure relating to ihe history 
of Newbery's in its publishing capacity. The firm dates from 1746. 

The oldest existing firm of patent medicine dealers is, however, 
undoubtedly that of William Sutton & Co., not originally Dicey & 
Benyon, as staled, for J. Claer was before them, in 1722, and before 
Cluer there were others, as the existence of their sign, dated i66g, 
probably testifies. After Dicey & Benyon it was Dicey & Sutton, 
now William Sutton & Co,, of 76 Chiswell Street, but formerly, for 
at least two hundred years, at No. 10 Bow Churchyard. Their stone 
Mgn of the " Golden Ball " (not the " Golden Pill," as it is sometimes 
described), which alone is enough to mark their antiquity, was placed 
among the collection in the City Museum when their premises were 
destroyed for the rebuilding of warehouses of another character. 
The King's Arms and Boar's Head, depicted on their stationery, are 
but a modem imaginative combination, and it is unaccountable that 
they should be so indifferent to the fad that their stone sign of 
the " Golden Ball," one which was commonly put up by the early 
medicine vendors, as well as by other branches of trade, actually 
bears the incised date 1669. The boar's head used upon their 
stationery Is merely taken from the capsule of their old-time medicine 
phials, and was in no sense their sign. J. Cluer, their predecessor 
in Bow Churchyard, published a representation of it, from a rough 
wood-blocV, with his advertisements, and requested purchasers to see 
that " each bottle is sealed with the Boar's Head." He also used 
what he called the " London Arms " in the same way. This will be 
seen in both instances by referring to the "London Journal" of 
May 5, 171a ; and even at that early period in soliciting the custom 
of "shop-keepers and country chapmen," J. Cluer speaks of himself 
as selling, both " wholesale and retail," Bateman's Pectoral Drops, 
and " The Grand Cathartick r or the Great Restorer of Health, 
prepared by several eminent Physicians, for the Benefit of Great 
Britain in these sickly limes." The old Royal Arms suspended 
within their premises are those of George I. No. 10 Bow Church- 
yard seems to have always been distinguished by the sign of the 
" Golden Ball," i.e. until the sign found a home in the City Museum ; 
and the sign formerly had a lamp suspended either over it or by the 
side of it, when such lamps were first brought into use. Hence it 
became known in 1719 as the sign of the "Golden Ball and Lamp," 
allusion to the lamp being omitted, no doubt, when such a means of 
illumination became too general to warrant the continuance of the 
distinction. And beneath the " Golden Ball and Lamp " dwelt 
Joseph Cam, M.D., who wrote, and published, and sold here, a book j 

142 The Gentieman's Magazine. 

upon a certain disease that was not uncommon in those days. It 
was sold also by many of the principal booksellers, like G. Strahan, 
in Comhill ; W, Mears, without Temple Bar ; C, King, in Westminster 
Hall ; and E. Midwinter, on London Bridge. Also by Robert 
Nicholk, in Worcester ; B. Room and S. Farley, in Bristol ; and 
T. Goodall, in Cambrii^e. This " Practical Treatise " was inter- 
spersed with remarks on the " pretended specificks " that were used 
in those days, and their authors.' The "Golden Ball" — the sign, 
much fractured, still bears traces of having received a coat of yellow 
paint — was the principal house, as Sutton's is to-day, for the sate 
of a celebrated medicine of the time. Daffy's Elixir Salutis, which is 
mentioned at least as early as 1673.* This " Elixir " is also advertised 
to be sold at " Daffy's Elixir warehouse, at the Sign of the Maiden- 
Head, behind Bow Church in Cbeapside," and is spoken of as having 
(in 1731) been "in great use then throughout England, these fifty 
years." * Mrs. Daffy, the preparer of the " Elixir," died at her home in 
Salisbury Court, August 30, 1732. Antony Daffy, her husband, died 
October 8, 1750.* "Squire's Original Grand Elixir" is anodier 
patent medicine sold by Sutton's at the present day, which I find 
mentioned in an advertisement in the " London Journal " as early as 
May 19, rjsi. 

Langdale's, the wholesale manufacturing chemists and distillers 
of perfumes and essences, at 72 and 73 Hatton Garden, E.C., 
was founded as long ago as r777. An industry of vast proportions 
is conducted here by Mr. £. P. Langdale, whose combined manu- 
facturing and mercantile operations embrace the distilling and 
importation of every description of essential oils, natural and artificial 
flavouring essences, concentrated infusions, tinctures, harmless veget- 
able colours, vanillas, vanilla crystals, etc., and the preparation of 



THE fkte of a book is as uncertain as that of a human being. It 
may or may not be attacked in early life by diseases incidental 
to infancy, known as adverse criticism ; if it survives these, it is still 
doubtful whether or not it will attain its majority, which may be 
T^resented by a second or third edition. It is liable to the chief 
dangers and difficulties which surround and confront the life of man, 
and it has rightly been said that it is almost as great a crime to kill a 
good book as to kill a human being. Like men, the most brilliant are 
frequently not the best ; a book may live a short and meteoric life, and 
be then swallowed up in darkness, while another issues silently from 
the press and maintains a quiet existence until its worth is recognised, 
and it lives thenceforth to illuminate the world for ages. But the 
saddest fate is that of the book which is stillborn, which fails on the 
threshold of existence, which has all the physical perfection of form, 
and lacks nothing save vitality. Such a book is " Joseph and His 
Brethren," by Charles Wells, published in 1824, which, though 
resuscitated by Mr. Swinburne in 1876, has not yet won its true 
position in the world of letters. Such, too, are the fine tragedies by 
R. H. Home, which are now, with a few exceptions, out of print. 
To enumerate the examples of good workmanship which have failed 
to win recognition would be to mention the names of much that is 
known only to the riper students of English literature ; the list of the 
writers would be headed by the name of Beddoes which has succeeded, 
that of a poet who is, now, happily no longer in the category of 
neglected artists — the name of William Blake. Close upon Beddoes 
must follow the still less familiar name of Ebenezer Jones, whose 
personality and work are alike interesting. He must not be con- 
founded with his namesake, Ebenezer Elliott, the Corn-law rhymer. 
Ebenezer Jones's claim to a niche in the literary Pantheon is based 
on his "Studies of Sensation and Event," a volume of poems 
published in 1843, which won the hearty approval of no less a 
master of his art than Robert Browning ; while Dante Gabriel 
Rossetti declared them to be " full of vivid, disorderly power," and at 

144 "^^ Gentleman^ s Magazine. 

the same time expressed a hope that they "should be one day 
disinterred from the heaps of verse deservedly buried." This hope 
was realised in 1879, when the book was republished by Pickering, 
edited and prefaced by Richard Heme Shepherd, with memorial 
notices of the author by Sumner Jones and W. J. Linton, This 
volume contains a photograph of the author, who is represented in a 
sitting posture, leaning, with closed eyes, against a stone wall The 
foce is clean shaven, the beard being worn only on the throat. 
There is intensity of suffering visible in the contracted brow ; 
otherwise the attitude is suggestive of repose. 

Ebenezer Jones was bom on January zo, 1820, in Canonbury 
Square, Islington. He was the son of Robert Jones, a gentleman 
of Welsh extraction, and of Hannah Sumner, the youngest daughter 
of Richard Sumner, head of a family long settled in Essex. Ebenezer 
had two brothers and three sisters, but there is little known of the 
femily, save a few glimpses given by Sumner Jones, to whom we are 
indebted for the facts of this sketch. The Joneses were Calvinists 
of the strictest type, and the stem discipline to which they subjected 
their children extended to the exclusion of all books which they 
considered of a too "woridly nature." A dreary picture of the 
dearth of books in the family is drawn by Sumner Jones, who 

"Dr. Watts and Kirke White were permitted on our Parnassus; 
but Shakespeare, and even Milton, were kept in rigorous quaran- 
tine. Of Byron we had a mysterious notion, gathered from 
hearing our elders now and then speak of him, shudderingly, as of 
some Satanic spirit who had been permitted visibly to walk abroad. 
Of Shelley we had never heard. Card-playing and dancing were 
denounced, and those who indulged in them were looked upon as 

Ebttiezer Jones. 


which was situated on an tipper floor. The usher seized the 
dog by the neck, with the intention of throwing the animal over the 
balustrade of the stairs. Seeing the action, young Jones, who was 
but eight years old, rushed up with flushed face, and shouted: "You 
shall not." The usher took no heed of the boy, who burst into 
tears when he heard ihe sound of the wretched animal's fall. 
^Vhilst at this school he first began to write verse, probably wrung 
from him by the misery which he was suflfering. He mentions in 
one of his poems wrillen at this lime a favourite habit be had of 
climbing one of the" poplars, and there with his book amusing him- 
self reading and dreaming. We give the poem as an early 
specimen of his verse and an expression of his aspirations — the 
aspirations of one whose desire, as expressed in after-life, vras 

Fiercely to rend life's icemings and 
Drag out the things thai are. 

The poem is addressed to his youngest sister, Hannah, who died 
in 1879, amongst whose papers it was found : 

Sec, sUter, yonder is the bank 

Where the dragon-flies did play ; 
How often have 1 broke the rank 

or schoolFcUows and stole away 
To climb Ibat very beechen tree. 

To eon some old romantic story 
or Jewish maid or Alice Lee — 

Of knighlJy love and feudal glory. 

While ihe stalely sun was going 

Like a hero to his bride. 
On tny lealy stud; throwing 

His parting glance of pride. 
Then came to me the joys, the feais — 

The lofly hopes of poetry, 
And brightly shone my future years^ — 

I stood and gazed exultingly. 

And sometimes 'nenth my lofty liower 

A beauteous girl would wander by. 
1 knew not then that wealth was power, 

That love from poverty would fly ; 
With ardent and devoted pride 

I read in her sky-watching eyes 
Genius might win a lovely bride. 

And vow'd to gain ihe priie. 

Before he left school Eben's father died, and with his death all 
prospects of professional pursuits for his sons came to an end. Like 


146 The GentieiHOH's Magazine. 

many another man reputed to be wealthy, the eldei Jones {mired to 
have but little money at his decease. Leaving the brothers in London, 
the rest of the family retired to Wales to eke out their livelihood on 
the wreck of a once substantia! fortune. Up to this time the house 
of the Joneses bad been constantly filled with men who are happily 
dubbed " tea and toast parsons," but the financial smash was accom- 
panied by the flight of all the many specimens of this now extinct 
genus. This was the time of Ebenezer Jones's intellectual awakening. 
His brother says : 

" His mind was now fiiirly aroused, and books hitherto proscribed 
and which we had been taught to consider of a worldly character, 
and worse, could no longer be suppressed. Cariyle's " French Re- 
volution" was lent him, not very long after its publication ; and later 
on " Sartor Resartus " was read, and burned within him. A little thick 
duodecimo edition of Shelley's poems was also obtained, and this 
had afterwards a magical effect upon him. But it was at first 
Cariyle's famous history that became among us a ' Sensation and 
Event' " 

As early as 1837, when he was about seventeen years of age, Ebetie- 
zer was apprenticed in a commercial house of wholesale tea-merchants 
in the City, and with this important step in his career commenced 
the misery of a life of drudgery and toil which did not terminate 
until i860. " Most wretched men," we learn from Shelley, "learn 
in suffering what they teach in song " ; and it is undoubtedly to these 
years of sorrow and pain that we owe such poems as " Song of the 
Kings of Gold " and " Song of the Gold-getters." The former we 
should like to quote in fiill, but a few stanzas will give sufBcient 
proof of the fiery intensity of the poet's hatred of the worshippers of 
Mammon : 

Ebenezer Jones. 1 47 

The whole earth is in the possession of these despots : 

. The earth, the earth is oars ; 
'Its com, its fruits, its wine. 
Its son, its rain, its flowers. 

Ours, all, all— cannot shine 
One sunlight ray bat where 

Our mighty titles hold ; 
Wherever life is, there 
* Possess the Kings of Gold. 

We cannot count our slaves, &c. 

And all on earth that lives, 

Woman, and man, and child. 
Us trembling homage gives ; 

Age trampled, jrouth defiled. 
None dareth raise one frown. 

Or slightest questioning hold ; 
Our scorn but shrikes them down 

To adore the Kings of Gold. 

We cannot count our slaves, &c 

The song concludes with the following stanza : 

In a glorious sea of hate. 

Eternal rocks we stand. 
Our joy is our lonely state. 

And our trust our own right hand ; 
We frown and nations shrink ; 

They curse, but our swords are old ; 
And the wine of their rage deep drink 

The dauntless Kings of Gold. 

Notwithstanding the swing of these verses, it is evident from the 
fact of the curious inversions of words in them, and the brevity of 
the final line in the chorus, that Jones had not a very delicate sense 
of music Such a line as that given above which terminates in " deep 
drink " could easily have been altered ; and the sense, as well as the 
metre, would have perceptibly gained by making the final line of the 
chorus to run, " Ha I ha ! who are the Gods ? " thus making the 
Kings of Gold defy, as well as question the existence of, deities 
greater than themselves. 

But we are anticipating. The volume in which the " Song of the 
Kings of Gold " appeared was not published until six years after the 
author had entered the world of commerce. That the poet had no 

148 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

light labour is patent Trom the facts given b; his brother as to their 
daily life. " Our hours of business," he writes, " were twelve duly, 
from S A.H. to 8 p.m., exclusive of getting to and from the premises. 
They weie severe for even those days ; nor had the great boon of the 
Saturday half-holiday been then thought of." But notwithstanding 
the long hours of work, and the consequent strain on body and brain, 
the poet resolutely set before him a self-appointed task, and the 
reader of his verse cannot but conclude that the midnight oil was 
never burned by a stronger soul. It is a pathetic picture, this 
struggle of genius for liberty and a lai^er and diviner air. In the 
thought for himself others were not foigotten, not even " Fool," the 
dog, who always had his nightly scamper, and who was now confided 
to the care of Sumner Jones, whose time was not considered as 
precious as that of the poet The first product of these years was 
an "Ode to Thought," which appeared in "Taifs Edinburgh 
Magadne" in September 1838, and which, though traces of the 
influence of Shelley are distinctly discernible in it, bears a close 
affinity to Tennyson's "Ode to Memory," which appeared in 1830, 
and which, we think, Jones could not possibly have seeiL The 
various readings of 183S are not by any means as happy as those 
of 1 843, when the poem found its place in the " Studies of Sensation 
and Event," and we therefore quote the latter. The strength and 
manliness of Jones were never more manifestly patent than in these 
lines, which bear no traces of the gloom and privation of his lif^ and 
which contain no expressions save those which exhibit his coun^ 
and powers of endurance. The opening lines run as follows ; 

Whetbet you make futurity joui home. 

Spirits of thought, 
0[ put eternity— 

Ebenezer Jones. 

For the gceat sake of ihe eternal spring 

Of all your might. 
Unto me, desolate, some comfort bring ; 

Unto me, dark, some light ; 
Come crowdingly, snd swifi, that t may see 
Upon your wings their native radiancy. 

And the conclusion is : 

Yc come, ye come, like stars down ihe dark night. 

Boldly leaping ; 
I hcai the mighty rushing of youi flight. 

Loud music sweeping. 
The uncorceived splendour of your speed 

Than the oceanic choiring; that precede 

And tide youi state ; 
Fill me with strength to bear, and power to tell. 
The wonders gathering round, that maji may love mi 


Such was the first published poem of a poet whose gifts were 
as great as they were exceptional. His delight at the appearance of 
these verses in "Tail's" was expressed in simple words : "1 feel as if 
I should do now," he wrote on a slip of paper which he passed to his 
brother's office desk. But he needed all his innate self-reliance to 
accept with resignation the reception given to his life's work. The 
five years between 1838 and 1843 were spent in assiduous labours ia 
poetry and prose. It was between these dates that he wrote a re- 
markable pamphlet on the Land Monopoly. Any journal or society 
which advocated the alleviation of the condition of the masses found 
in him a ready and ardent supporter. ^VhiIe touching on this side 
of our poet's nature, we may mention that when Dante Rossetti met 
him later, in 1848, he was an enthusiastic Chartist, and "would 
hardly talk on any subject but Chartism." 

In 1843 " Studies of Sensation and Event : Poems by Ebenezer 
Jones," was published by Charles Fox, of Paternoster Row. It con- 
sisted of forty-five poems, any one of which was sufficiently indicative 
of the fact that a new and remarkable figure had entered the literary 
arena. Copies were sent by Sumner Jones to Hood, Barry Corn- 
wall, R. H. Home, and others, but failed to win an acknowledgment, 
save in one or two instances. Hood was severe in his censure, but 
the letters received from Procter and Home were much prized by 
the recipient. The book, however well it was received by the few, 
WIS, nevertheless, an undoubted failure, and the author made no 
second attempt to win public recognition. He did not, like hia 
great contemporary, the author of " The Ring and the Book," give 
time and pains to turn his work " into what the many might, instead 

I50 The GentUmatis Magazine. 

of what the few must, like," but, on the contrary, as his brother says, 
he destroyed a mass of poetical composition which he had in pre- 
paration for a second volume had the first succeeded. A glance at 
this book, which has proved so great a failure, may not be without 
interest, all the more so inasmuch as Mr. Watts-Dunton declares 
that, " unknown as Jones's poems are to the general reader, his in- 
fluence has been so great upon those who have greatly influenced 
others that no student of nineteenth-century poetry can leave him 
unread." The book opens with " The Naked Thinker," which, like 
all Jones's work, is highly original in subject and composition; 
but we pass on to one of the most remarkable poems in the volume, 
which is entitled " A Death Sound." A lover lingering in Italy with 
the girl to whom he is soon to be wedded, one brilliant summer 
day leans his head against her breast, and in that very act learns the 
sorrowful fact that she has not long to live : 

They were sitting 'neath the trees ; he felt her soft hand come ; 
It clasped his brow and sweryed it toward her bosom home ; 
He sank upon his pillow, resigned to think that this, 
If bliss might be on earth, was sure earth's happiest bliss ; 
Then heard he through her frame the busy life-works ply, 
But the sound was not of life ; and he knew that she must die. 

But of what import was the happiness or misery of mortals to 
ihe life of the universe itself? This girl might live, or die ; whether 
or no, the summer sun would glow on aching or on happy hearts 
and the brightest day be fraught with misery for many. 

... the press of the sunshine held the world ; 
And with never a breeze or a sound 
The golden air glow'd radiant. 
While as ever the earth rush'd round. 

And beneath those fair Italian skies a human life fades ; this girl 
lay in her lover's arms and "died against his face." The immediate 
power of the poem lies in its being charged with what Clifford 
termed "cosmic emotion." With the exception of Wordsworth's 
"divine eight lines" — "A slumber did my spirit seal," &c — ^in 
" Poems of the Imagination," there is no expression in our literature 
of a like nature. 

" A Development of Idiotcy," apart from its inherent qualities, is 
valuable as giving a portrait of the author by his own hand : 

He was a fbrce-fill'd man^ 
Whom the wise envy not, his passionate soul 
Bang mi^ty to detect life's secret beauty, 

Ebenezer Jones, 

Deteciing, would display i and in bis youth, 
When 6isl tn%ht visions unveil'd beToie his ^^at 
Thdt rooml loveliness and phyacal grace, 
With the sweet melody of affectionate clamoui 
He sang them to the world, and bade it woi^hip ; 
But Ihe world unrecognited hb visions ofgiKidness, 
Or, recognising, baled then and him. 
As some full cloud foregoes his native country 
or sublime hills, where bask'd he neu lo heaven. 
And descends gently on his shadowy wings 
Tbniugh the hoi sunshine to refresh djl creatures ; 
So came he to the world ; as the same cloud 
Might slowly wend back to his Alpine home, 
Uowatering the plain, so left be men, 
Who knew not of their loss. 

The last eight lines might truthfully be applied to Jones's life 
and work. A few others taken from the same poem are faithfully 
representative of his silent strength when a sense of his failure had 
been forced upon him : 

Then, no more 

Lamented be the wingless minds of men 

Than jiines Ibe swan, who down the midnight rivei 

Moves on, considering the refli:cted stitrs. 

Because dark reptiles burrowing in the ooze 

Care not for starry glories, 

A sonnet entitled " High Summer," quoted by Mr. William 
Sharp in his excellent little compilation, " Sonnets of this Century," is 
perhaps the only instance of our poet's work having been included 
in a volume of selections. Though it would bear quotation here, 
we omit it in favour of a couple of stanzas of a much more important 
item " A Pagan's Drinking Chaunt " : 

Like the bright white arm of a young god, thrown 

To the hem of a slru^ling maiden's gown, 
The torrent leaps on the kegi of stone 

That held this wine In the dark gulf down ; 
Deep live fathoms It lay in the cold, 

The afternoon summer-heats heavily wdgh j 
The wine is awaiting in Sagons of gold 

On the side of the hill that looks over the bay. 
There's a bower of vines, for each one bends 

Under the lermcing cedar-trees ; 
Where »but from the presence of foes or friends. 

He may qualf and couch in lonely ease ; 
The sunshine slants past the dark-green cave. 

In tbe sunshine the galleys before him will druwse 
And the loat of ihe town, like a ^r-tiavelled wave, 

Will faintly flow into his calm carouse. 

152 Th« Gentlemaiis Afaguxtne. 

The singul&r beauty of this lyric has caused it to be the best 
known production of Jones's pen. With it we have reached the last 
quotable poem in the "Studies." Of the remaining poems we may 
mention "A Crisis," "A Slave's Triumph," "Ways of R^ard," and 
" The Face," the last of which was much admired by Lord Houghton, 
who is said to have spoken with enthusiasm about it. Such was the 
volume which was sent forth by the poet of twenty-three, to meet with 
such an unmerited fote. 

Of the poet's hfe, so full of fiery energy and dauntless courage, 
there are but few facts known. He married Caroline Atherstone, a 
daughter of Edwin Atherstone, whose " Nineveh" was at one time a 
celebrated book. " Poet's marriages," Mr, Watts-Dunton significantly 
says, " are not in a general way made in heaven," and Jones's was no 
exception. The love-poems in the " Studies" were not addressed to 
the girl who became the poet's wife, but to another, who did not return 
his love and married a man who was Jones's friend. In 1844 Eben 
abandoned poetry for politics, and was employed by the Radical 
press for some time. In the railway mania year, 1846, he became 
secretary of a company which ultimately proved a faUure. In later 
years he fixed his residence in Old Chelsea, the choice of locality 
being mainly the result of his love for Carlyle, with whom be desired 
to be thus associated. As the years passed away he won many 
friends, who recognised the undoubted worth of his work, and he was 
particularly delighted with a tribute of praise paid him by W. J. Fox, 
who recited from the platform of the National Assembly Hall, 
Holbom, his poem of "A Coming Cry." We can easily imagine the 
effect produced by the redtal of such Unes as the following, which the 
speaker declared were written by a poet who must one day rank 
high : 

Ebenezer Jones. 153 

his verse. It could no longer be said of his poems that they con- 
tained "lines that bruise the ears like flints." The power with 
which Eben could depict a landscape and endow it with life is 
proved by the singular force of the following lines from " A Winter 
Hymn to the Snow " : 

The woodland rattles in the sadden gusts ; 
Froeen through froEen brakes thi river thrusts 
His arm forth stiffly like one sUun and cold ; 
The glory from the horixon line has fled ; 
One snUeUf formless gloom the skies are spread, 
And black the waters of the lake roll'd. 

But the most important of these last poems is one bearing the 
singular title, " When the World is Burning." 

When the world is burning. 
Fired within, yet turning 

Round with face unscathed ; 
Ere fierce flames, uprushing. 
O'er all lands leap, crushing 

Till earth jRall, fire-swathed ; 
Up amidst the meadows, 
Gently through the shadows, 

Gentle flames will glide, 
Small and blue and golden. 
Though by bard beholden. 
When in calm dreams folden — 

Calm his dreams will bide 
Where the dance is sweeping, 
Through the greensward peeping. 

Shall the soft lights start ; 
Laughing maids, unstaying. 
Deeming it trick -playing. 
High their robes upswaying, 

O'er the lights shall dart ; 
And the woodland haunter 
Shall not cease to saunter 

When far down some glade, 
Of the great world's burning, 
One soft flame upturning. 
Seems to his discerning 

Crocus in the shade. 

This extraordinary poem appeared in " Ainsworth's Magazine," 
and bore the sub-title of " Stanzas for Music." 

In the autumn of i860, unable to withstand a strong desire to 
return to England, he removed to Brentwood, in Essex, where his 
niece tended him during his final illness. Even the ravages of 
disease did not quell his unconquerable soul 

VOL. CCXCVII. NO. 2084. If 

154 ^'^ Geniieman's Magaeine. 

"Whenever a fiiend went to see him on his deathbed," 
Mr. Watts- Dunton writes, " he was always met by a dauntless face 
shining from a pillow, a glance from an eye as steely bright as 
ever, a voice to which not even the King of Terrors could bring a 
quaver — to which, indeed, nothing could bring a quaver, save the 
tenderness of those around his bed. ' Note the grasp of my hand,' 
be would say ; ' it is only here I fiiil,' and he would point defiantly to 
his chest, where those dreadful forenotings of the death rattle told 
their tale." 

He died on September 14, i860, and was buried in Shenfietd 
Churchyard. In his fint poem he had expressed a wish that his 
fellow-men should love him well, and even in death he desired that 
he should not be buried in a burial-ground which would be either 
" lonesome or n^lected " ; and his wish was obeyed. His brother 
writes : 

" He sleeps in a spot selected absolutely to fulfil his last wish. 
Tbe village diildren pass on their way to school, and the robin 
perches on the garden fence close beside his grave. And there may 
be heard two of his best loved sounds in life : the watch-dog's bark 
from the farm across the still fields at night ; and in springtime, in 
the morning, the throstle's first unmistaking song." 

" Studies of Sensation and Event " has won the commendation of 
such men as Barry Cornwall, R. H. Home, Lord Houghton, W. Bell 
Scott, Robert Browning, William Allingham, D. G. Rossetri, Theodore 
Watts-Dunton, and Mr. Swinburne, who constitute the most prominent 
of the poet's admiral Some of these have written in no measured 
terms in his praise. Although not allied to any particular school, 
Ebenezer Jones was undoubtedly a disciple oi the author of 
" Dramatic Lyrics." Save Browning's no name rises as easily to the 

Ebenezer Jones. 155 

prominence to the emotional element of human nature, and inorganic 
nature he has endowed with a demoniacal existence to match human 
nature as he conceived it. " Two Sufferers " and " Ways of Regard ** 
are sufficient^ on a first perusal, to prove to the rawest student of 
poetry that in this lay the cause of his failure. But apart from this, 
his powerful expression of particular moods, the elemental force 
of his utterances, and the vividness of his descriptions, render 
him an important figure in modem literature. As Mr. Watts-Dunton 
says in lines already quoted, ''No student of nineteenth-century 
poetry can leave him unread.'' He sought to express the naked truths 
of the universe, to lay bare the innermost recesses of the himian 
spirit, and to harmonise the apparent discords in both ; above all, to 

Leap with his passionate reason down the depths, 
Tempestuously toss'd, of human nature, 
Seeking the masked demons that invoke 
Suffering and wrong. 



156 The GeniUman's Magazine. 


THE story of the last few yeais of the life of James IL, ptssed 
in exile at the Ch&teau of St Germain-en-Laye, is fu more 
entertaining and romantic than has generally been supposed. For 
most readers of English history, and writers too, all real int^est in 
the public career of the discomfited King seems to have ceased 
with the fatal batde of La Hogue, when all chances of regaining his 
lost crown by force of arms were completely shattered ; and to the 
subsequent domestic life of James and bis Court little public 
attention has consequently been paid, although its annals are well 
worth reading, espedally those records that can be gathered from 
French contemporary sources. As he grew older and his hopes of 
returning to London in proportion more slender, James became 
more regular and devoted in the practice of that rel^on for which 
he had sacrificed so much, and endeavoured, according to his own 
confession, by his piety and austerity to make amends for the many 
evil deeds of his past life. He loved, thenceforth, to cultivate the 
society of holy men and women, and it was the quest of tiieii 
acquaintance that led him to pay several visits to the sombre 

King James the SecoJtd at La Trappe. 157 

piety, but also for the profundity of his Greek learning, whilst he 
had in earlier days been much addicted to astronomy and astrology. 
"At first," wrote King James, in his "Spiritual Exercise," "it was 
partly curiosity and a desire to see whether the discourses ! had 
heard and the relations I had read whilst in England of that holy 
place" (La Trappe) "came up to my expectation, and whether the 
Abbot who began that reform desen-ed all the commendations 
that were given him. An old friend of mine, le Mar^chal de Belford, 
carried me thither, for which as long as he lived I gave him many 
thanks, and by degrees found myself, as I thought, improved ; for 
till I had been there some times, and had made a kind of retreat 
for three or tour days at a time, which I have continued to do at 
least once a year since my coming from Ireland, I found not that 
change which was necessary in myself ; it gave me a true sense of the 
vanity of all worldly greatness, and that nothing was to be coveted 
but Ibe love of God." 

King James arrived at La Trappe on November 30, 1690. 
" The first year after his return from Ireland," says his biographer, 
Clarke, " he resolved to make a spiritual retreat at La Trappe, 
notwithstanding the private derision he was sensible it exposed him 
to," During this visit, James, who was accompanied by Marshal 
Belford and by Lord Dumbarton, lived entirely on " roots, eggs, and 
v^etables," served to him in the refectory, and pleased the monks 
so much by his benevolence that the delighted De Ranc6 subse- 
quently recorded, "1 never saw anything more striking than the 
whole of the King's conduct. Nor have I seen any person more 
elevated above the transitory objects of lime and sense. His 
tranquilhty and submission to the Divine Will are marvellous. He 
realty equals some of the most holy men of old, if indeed he may 
not rather be said to surpass ihem. He has suffered the loss of 
three kingdoms; yet his equanimity and peace of mind are un- 
disturbed. He speaks of his bitterest enemies without warmth. . . . 
All his pursuits tend to the love of God and man. He appean 
uniformly to feel the Divine Presence." 

Whilst staying for the first time at La Trappe, James came across, 
in the midst of that vast solitude, an old servant. Going with De 
Ranc^ to see a hermit, who abode in a small wooden hut built in 
the woods near the monastery, James found that this religious waa 
a Scottish gentleman of noble birth named Robert Graham, who 
had once been in his service in England. This pious Jacobite now 
passed a life even more severe than that of the Cistercian brethrei 
themselves. He saw none of the monks except De Rancd, livii 



158 The Gentlematts Magazine. 

entirely by himself, but attending the religious services in the abbey. 
He would make his perilous way through the dark and dense forest, 
as early as three o'clock of a winter's morning, in order to be present 
at the first Mass. How many years this hardy Scot existed in this 
solitary state is not known, but we are told that James warmly 
commended him to persevere, although Lord Dumbarton warned 
him against the dangers of his daily journey to La Trappe, and 
advised him in vain to enter the monastery, and live in common 
with the monks. 

In 1696 James was accompanied to La Trappe by his Queen, 
Mary Beatrice of Modena, who lodged with her ladies in a house 
that had formerly been used by the Commendatory Abbots when 
inspecting the monastery. By this time, De Ranc^ was no longer 
Abbot, he having reluctantly resigned that position, owing to ill- 
health, at Christmas 1694, nearly six years before his death, and 
seven before that of James II. His successor, however, was wont 
to consult with him, and take his advice on all important matters as 
if he were still the head of the house. 

The resignation of De Ranc^ had made no break in his friend 
ship with the King, who continued to correspond with him from St. 
Germains. "Until I was with you," wrote James, in June 1695, 
" I did not enjoy that contempt of the world which now I am 
sensible of; I make use of that expression, because I was never 
truly happy till I had gained a real conformity to the will of God, 
and till I was convinced that it is impossible to have content in this 
world but by dispensing of it." Two months later he writes, " The 
continual distractions of those who live in the world make it neces- 
sary to be stirred up by frequent admonitions and remembrances of 
their duty, which I stand more in need of than others who b^an so 
late to apply themselves seriously to the work of salvation." A year 
later, the Kbg wrote, " I really jthink nothing has afforded me so 
much consolation since my misfortune as the conversation of that 
venerable saint, TAbb^ de la Trappe. When I first arrived in 
France, I had but a very superficial view of religion, if I might 
be said to have anything deserving that name. L'Abb^ de la 
Trappe was the first person who gave me any solid instruction with 
respect to genuine Christianity. I formerly looked upon God as an 
omnipotent Creator and as an arbitrary Governor. I knew His power 
to be irresistible. I therefore thought His decrees must be submitted 
to because they could not be withstood. Now my whole view is 
changed. L'Abb^ de la Trappe has taught me to consider this 
great God as my Father, and to view myself as adopted into His 

King James the Second at La Trappe. 1 59 

family. I now can look upon myself as become His son, through the 
merits of my Saviour applied to my heart by the Holy Spirit. I am 
now convinced, not only that we ought to receive misfortunes with 
patience, because they are inevitable, but I also feel assured that 
death, which rends the veil from all things, will probably discover to 
us as many new secrets of love and mercy in the economy of God's 
providence as in that of His grace." 

The King's confessor at this period was an English Jesuit, Dr. 
Francis Sanders, afterwards to become one of his biographers, who 
seems thoroughly to have approved of the King's visits to La Trappe, 
and of his friendship with De Ranc^, although the good abbot had 
at one period been popularly suspected of Jansenism. So penitent, 
indeed, was King James II. for his sins that we actually find him 
giving directions for no requiem masses to be said for his soul 
after death, as he hoped to stay a long time in purgatory. The 
combined entreaties, however, of the Jesuit and the Cistercian 
induced him to forgo this decision. Of the visits to La Trappe, his 
confessor, the scholarly Father Sanders, who accompanied him 
thither, has himself testified, in his life of James II., in terms of 
profound admiration, and the following is a translation of the original 
account written in French : " Though he was very well informed 
how his retirements at La Trappe were talked of, he never missed 
going there once a year. He would stay there three or four days, 
and spend them in long meditations and spiritual conferences with 
the abbot and his confessor, whom he took ydth him. He assisted 
at all the choir-hours, except at night. He was never so infirm but 
he would dine once with the religious in the refectory, where no 
meat nor fish is ever served up. If at any time he was edified (as 
well he might be) by these pious solitaries, and if he profited by 
their examples, he would also himself leave such an edification behind 
him as was very profitable to them ; and without doubt the odour 
of his virtues is still preserved in their solitude, and will be so for a 
long time." 

Complimentary as are the above references relating to the religious 
life of the deposed monarch, it must not be forgotten, of course, that 
they have been extracted, one and all, from Jacobite sources, and 
are, therefore, unlikely to record any trait or circumstance unfiEivour- 
able to their hero's reputation ; and between their estimate of the 
King's character and the estimate of Lord Macaulay, it is hardly 
necessary to state, there is a great gulf fixed. Without entering, how- 
ever, into a controversy upon the subject of these discrepancies, it 
is £urly safe to assume that the last seven or eight years of the exiled 

i6o The Gentleman's Magaeine. 

King's career were spent in a far more honourable and r^ular fiubion 
than the majority of English writers have imagined. No gteat 
exception, indeed, in his old age can be taken to the depth of bis 
sincenty, and it is evident that during his sojourn at St. Gemuun- 
en-Laye he became a most devoted husband and father. Finally, 
in the words of one of the ablest of oui historians, " James, since the 
miscarriage of his last attempt for recovering bis throne, laid aside 
all tbouf^ts of worldly grandeur, and devoted his whole attention to 
the concerns of his soul : hunting was his chief diversion, but religion 
was his constant care : nothing could be more harmless than the life 
he led, and in the course of it he subjected himself to uncommon 
penance and mortification : he frequently visited the poor monks <rf 
La Trappe, who were much edified by his humble and pious deport- 
ment : his pride and arbitrary temper seem to have vanished with 
bis greatness ; he became affable, kind, and easy to all his depen- 
dents ; and his religion certainly opened and improved the virtues 
of his heart, though it seemed to impair the Acuities of his soul. In 
his last illness he conjured his son to prefer his religion to every 
worldly advantage, and even to renounce all thoughts of a crown if 
he could not enjoy it without offering ^olence to his &ith ; he re- - 
commended to him the practice of justice and Christian forgivenest, 
he himself declaring he heartily forgave the Pnnce of Orange, the 
Emperor, and all his enemies." 

James II. was interred, at his own request, in the church of the 
English Benedictines in Paris, and according to an eye-witness 
" Though be appointed himself a very small funeral, he had a very 
great funeral, but not so great, by much, as became him." 




I. Billy Didsbury 

I MADE his acquaintance this wise : 
I was leaning on the low wall of Widow Didsbuiys garden, 
inhaling the fresh smell of the spring flowers and watching the bees 
clustering about the mouths of the hives, awakened from their long 
winter sleep and commencing work in real earnest, sometimes raising 
my head to observe the antics of a colt the Rector's groom was trying 
for the first time with bridle and bit in the meadow just beyond the 
garden wall, when I felt a pull at my jacket and looked round. 

Turned up towards me was a rosy, dirty, and chubby foce, with a 
mass of twisted curls falling over the blue eyes and the little mouth 
open in a grin of delight A pinafore which once had been of red 
{Mint, with a pattern of white flowers, though now, like another and 
rather more fiunous coat, it was of " many colours," covered all other 
articles of clothing except a pair of small well-worn shoes, half hidden 
by dirty white stockings, which had slipped down over them at the 
base of two fat little legs. 

The owner of these various attributes was some three or four 
years of age, and flourished in one hand a letter and in the other 
something wrapped in paper. 

*' Ah'm a man now," he informed me. '' Ah'm doin' to de pos', 
an' ah've dot to say to Mitde Dat'son " {AngUce, Mrs. Jackson), "as 
ah want some b'ead an' a 'tamp to put on dis," and here he waved the 
letter in my face. 

I felt rather at a loss what to reply to this little aspirant to man- 
hood, but could not help laughing heartily at his comical manner 
when, pointing to my left sleeve, which hung empty, thanks to an 
unlucky fisdl in the hunting-field, he continued : 


** It has been cut off, my little man. But what is your name ? " 

He pursed up his mouth, and then, as though the name was 
one rather diflicult of pronunciation, ejaculated quickly : 

** Bi'ye Did'b'ry. But 'as thi arm bin cutted off? " and the blue 

1 63 The GetUietnan's Magazine. 

eyes grew round and big with surprise, not unmixed mth a cortain 
amount of awe. 

Just then Widow Didsbury came along the garden walk and, 
catching sight of the child, clapped her hands and called out : 

"What art botherin' t* mester abaw^ tha little raflle-toppin ? 
Ah'm comin' for thi if tha doan't mek sharp off for that theer bread." 

The youngster laughed in a rebellious manner, and then tripped 
quickly along the pathway, only to stumble and fall after a few yards, 
the letter flying from one hand, and the money, luckily wrapped tn 
paper, from the other. But he was up in a moment, turning to fling 
a saucy smile back at us, and, regaining his belongings, gravely dusted 
the envelope with a corner of his pinafore, no doubt making it dirtier 
than ever, and continued his errand, turning every few yards to see 
whether we were looking at him. 

The old woman gazed after him with a smile on her pleasant, 
wrinkled old face, and turning to me^ said : 

"Aye, 'e's a bonny lad, an' that owd-foshioned, sir, yer'd hardly 
beleeave it sometimes, an' 'e's nobbut three year owd, fower next 

" He is your grandson, is he not ? " I remarked. 

" Aye, sir, 'e's t' only choild as our poor Tom iver had, an' 'e's 
bin wi' me two year come this harvest, for 'is father, poor lad, deed o' 
t' smalt-pox when Billy wor nobbut nine month owd, an' his wife, 
poor thing, shoo fretted hersen into t' churchyard five month at after, 
an' ah've kep' f bairn iver sin*. Eh, but 'e's that owd-^hioned, is 

That was my first acquaintance with Billy. 

The second entry in tiiese " simple annals " is of a different order. 

It was at the rectory, the occasion being that of a parish sewing- 

Broad-Acre Sketches. 163 

inveigled into the midst of the sewing-meeting, and was hardly 
seated when an audible whisper reached my ears : 

" Dranny, dere's de man wot's dot 'is ann cutted off ! " 

A violent sound of hushing followed this remark, and I looked, 
with a smile, as I recognised the voice of my little friend, who had 
climbed upon a chair, rather to the detriment of plush and French 
polish, and was gazing at me curiously over the back. 

The Rector rose just then and moved heavily towards the group ; 
for our worthy pastor was a portly man, of mighty girth and tall 
withal, and, to let him down easily, his boots must have been a 
mystery to him for years. 

He paused by Billy's chair, and placing his hand patronisingly on 
the boy's head, remarked : 

" Now, Billy, my boy, do you think you could sew ? " and he 
picked up a half-finished surplice from the table. 

" Des," answered William promptly, with no trace of the awe 
which the august, well-fed head of a village church is calculated to 

"Then could you make a surplice for me?" continued the 
Rector in his most wheedling, charity-sermon tone, smiling at the 
little fellow. 

There was silence for a moment, during which Billy looked at the 
portly form beside him, and then, his shrill treble rising on the 
hushed silence of the room, he replied : 

" Des, if tha wants one, but tha mun buy me t' stuff, tos it'll tek 
sich a lot ! " 

For a moment silence reigned, and then a shriek of laughter 
came from the Rector's wife, as she lay back in her chair and shook 
again ; whilst the Rector himself, though for a moment he glared at 
the unconscious youngster, joined perforce in the merriment which 
burst forth on all sides. 

Another time that I saw Billy is still before my mind's eye. 

" Mester, dost want a roide ? " 

I was strolling along the street, bound for the cool room and 
sanded floor of the ** White Duck " ; not so much, however, for the 
purpose of tasting the ale of those parts — ^though I did not let the 
opportunity pass — but for a sheltered place, this hot August weather, 
in which to await the arrival of the carrier's waggon, which was to 
convey me to the neighbouring town, when the above remark was 
shouted from the opposite side of the roadway. 

I looked in that direction, and there was Billy, set astride, or 
rather fixed somehow, on the broad back of a cart-horse, and pulling 

164 The Gentleman's Magaeine. 

with high glee at the red projecting ends of the hamea, whilst be 
sang out the invitation to me. 

" Hallo, Billy," t said, " where are you off to ? " 

" Ah'm off to f qnany wi' me unknel, an' ah'm doin' to rwde on 
owd Botser all t* way." 

Harry Didsbuiy, Billy's " unknel " as he tenned him, approached 
from the garden with a gear-chain and a pick-shaft on his shoulder, 
and the burly quarryman smiled as he heard his nephew's r^ly to 
my question. 

" *£) meks a raight little jock, doan't 'e, sir, on owd Boxer. We 
shall 'a ter enter him for the St. Leger," and Harry laughed greatly 
at his own joke. 

" But ah've not dot a whip, unknel," said Billy, seriously. 

" Ne'er moind, lad, tha'd not mek a deeal o' difference to thi 
mount if tha hed one," replied his uncle. 

" Well, Billy," I put in, " if you are a good boy 111 bring you a 
whip from Rotherboro'. How will that suit you ? " 

Billy's eyes sparkled, and he squirmed with delight, but locked at 
his uncle to answer for him. 

" Theer, lad, what dost say to f mester for doin' that? " 

Billy looked at me for a moment, then at his uncle again, and 
finally said, " Thall bring me a big un ! " 

I laughed heartily at this and walked away, my last glimpse of 
the child showing him jolting up and down on the old horse's hack, 
evidently at the height of his enjoyment. 

I stepped down at the comer of the village street in the evening, 
on my return from the town, loaded with various commissions, con- 
spicuous among which was a child's toy whip, the handle plaited 
with red leather, which I intended for Billy. 

Broad-Acre Sketches. 165 

mithy, an' when 'e get to t' door, dropped it offn 'is showder, 
an' niver seed poor baitn walkin' agin 'im, an' it dropped on 'im, an' 
crushed 'im that bad as 'e deed this afternoon at foive o'clocL Poor 
little thing ! an' they say as how 'is uncle teks on that bad abawt it as 
'el's a'most soft. They do ! " and she looked at her companion, who 
gave a confirmatory nod. 

I could hardly believe the terrible news, and looked, horror- 
struck, in my informant's face ; and she, noticing my incredulous stare, 

" It's true, mester, ah'm sorry to say. Poor bairn, 'e wor sich a 
boany lad," and the good woman's eyes grew cloudy. 

I hardly know what I answered, and walked on my way, far 
more greatly shocked at the news than 1 should have thought it 
possible ; but my last sight of the poor child had been one of health 
and happiness, and the contrast was terrible. 

The bees hummed amid the gilliflowers, the swallows flitted 
around the whitewashed walls of the cottage, and all without looked 
cheerful and bright, but from within came a sound of smothered 
weeping, which stopped me half-way along the garden walk. 

I could not intrude, and walked sadly home with a child's toy 
whip in my hand. 

Poor little Billy Didsbury I No more frolics with granny and 
auntie, no more rides to the quarry on "Boxer" with "unkneV no 
more quaint remarks and pretty ways. 

The pen of the great playwright had stopped in the first act of 
this little hfe drama, and Billy had hardly played one part before he 
was called from the stage. 

It seemed sad and hard ; and yet when, some days later, I watched 
the mournful little procession wind its way slowly under the shade 
of the horse-chestnuts in the churchyard, and looked around at the 
silent spectators, I wondered perhaps if Billy's lot had not been an 
enviable one. 

A brief period of happiness and comfort, loving and being loved, 
and then away to eternal happiness after an hour or two of pain, 
with no fear of growing up to a life of rough and hard work, of care 
and worry, as must have been inevitable. 

Now, the rest of the acts of Billy, and all that he did, arc ihey not 
told in the quiet summer evenings when Widow Didsbury wipes her 
spectacles and murmurs, with a choke in her voice, how " 'e wor 
that owd-lashioned "? 

i66 Tlu Gentleman's Magazine. 


It was Fiddlemore Feast. 

This statement would easily have explained to any person residing 
within a five-mile radius the meaning of newly white-painted window 
frames, half-fuddled rustics in their Sunday clothes, unlimited busi- 
ness at the " Plough," and great hurry and bustle on the part of the 
butcher as he executed his various orders. 

Yes, the "Feeast" was a great institution, and a villager got ready 
for it and enjoyed himself at that period just as naturally as he went 
about his work at other times. 

Yes, and what is more, it was also the " Club Dinner," and Mrs. 
Downes, the landlady, was in a great state of work and bustle, per- 
spiring freely as she superintended the cooking and scolded the ostler 
for not helping her girls to carry " that theei gre't panfull of cabbage 
waiter, which alius wor a gre't weight, as ah towd our John when 'e 
bowt t' pan o' that theer gipsy as wor raand last back end, when 'e 
knew as ah didn't loike heavy things. But theer, some men alius did 
think as they knew moor abawt f housework nor their woives." 

Busy Mrs. Downes, she was hot and tired ; the kitchen was hot 
and steamy, and the day was also hot ; but still it was one of those 
pleasant days in July when the sky was a deep blue and everywhere 
the feeling of summer in all its splendour was in the air. 

The bees hummed about the tall, pink hollyhocks in the rectory 
garden, and the butterflies flitted over every cluster of bloom, rising 
higher in the sunlit air till some found their way over the old walls 
and tiled roofs into the field at the rear of the " Plot^jb," where the 
collection of roundabouts, shooting-galleries and toy-stalls formed the 
principal attraction of the Feast. 

Broad-Acre Sketches. 167 

The strolling players, for such they were, worked hard at the poles 
and ropes, except one, who seemed more fond of telling the others 
what to do than of doing it himself. 

Evidently he was not popular with his companions, as different 
remarks tended to show. And yet, even to the most casual observer 
there was something about him above the ordinary. He was good- 
looking, and had a style with him the others lacked, and this fact no 
doubt did not add to his popularity, though it was not the chief cause 
of the other players' dislike. It was his haughty, standoff manner, 
or rather his want of tact ; for it was not pride in the main that made 
Arthur Morthem almost unbearable amongst his companions, and no 
doubt he often wished that he could adapt himself more ; and yet, 
always, his nature stepped in and prevented any advances, And 
perhaps the thought struck him on this July day, when, after some 
remark, he heard a not very complimentary reply, and, stopping in 
his work, he gazed with knitted brows to where the old ivy-covered 
church tower stood out against the expanse of dazzling blue. 

Poor fellow, he was more to be pitied than blamed ; though, as 
the loquacious Sam Tickhill, low comedian to the company, observed, 
" 'E's a sirollin' player now, an' nuthin' else, so 'e needn't carry hisself 
like a bloomin' dook." 

By afternoon the tent was pitched, the little flags on the peaks 
bung lazily in the still air, and, after arranging the stage within, the 
men came out to enjoy a few hours' idleness until the evening. 

Sammy looked at his not overclean hands and arms, and tuming 
round to the others proposed a bath and swim in the neighbouring 

Most of them assented, and after lighting their pipes commenced 
to stroll lazily in that direction, leaving Arthur Morthern, however, 
who stood in a hesitating, undecided manner, until Tickhill, with un- 
usual good-humour, seeing the other's gloomy face, said, "Come on, 
old chap, youll need a rinse as well as we shall, I reckon." 

Rather surprised at the kind tone, Arthur linked his arm with 
Sammy's, and bending down to pat the head of an infantstrayed from 
a neighbouring caravan, passed on with the rest. 

The way to the canal led through the churchyard, and as the party 
entered " God's Acre " the sunbeams fell on the pavement without 
the chmch porch, which was sprinkled with rice, a wedding party 
having shortly before left the building. 

On the moss-grown wall of the old rectory garden a peacock sat 
sunning itself, lu iridescent plumage glinting in glowing splashes 
where the light fell on it through the spreading foliage of a beech 


1 68 Th$ (UittUman's Magaxine. 

orerimd. Tbe hen came wslking from amidst the gravestone, and 
commenced Idsurely to pick up. the grains of rice, whilst overhead the 
swallows circled round the tower, twittering unceasingly, as though ftom 
very joy at the beauty of the day. 

"There is Norman work in this church. Do you see tbe dog- 
tooth over that archway, Tickhill i " and Morthem looked with interest 
at tbe old structure. 

Sammy, who knew rather less about Norman architecture than an 
Australian native, mumbled something in reply, whilst one of ±e men, 
tumii^ to his companions, said in an undertone, " '£*8 showin' off 
again. I cant stand these d d broken-down swells." 

And they pursued their way to the canaL 

"Me uncle's gen me thrippence, Jessie, to tak' to V Feeast* 

"An' me aunt's gen me tuppence and sho says as sbo'sgoin 
dam wi' us, but we mun wait till termorrer noight ter hev a roide on 
V woodin 'osses." 

And die two little g^ls chatted merrily on in their aunt's large 
fiurm kitchen, whilst their uncle sat smoking in his big Windsor 
chair by the side of the fireplace, looking very uncomfortable 
in a black coat, only donned on very special occasions, the one this 
tiine being that of the club dinner, at which he was soon to appear. 

His wife, a severe-looking woman, made her appearance, and 
asking him whether he was ready to go, made some remarks to the 
children as to their behaviour, telling them that they could not go 
down to the feast that evening, as it was very noisy, but that she 
would take them to-morrow, and to-day they must be satisfied with 
patronising the toy and sweet stalls. 

Very soon the four were en route for the fair ground, where the 

Broad-Acre Sketches. 


Fuie canal banks, which rose a good height above the fields. There 
they wove fresh chains of flowers and talked about the " Feeast," 
whilst the younger told the other that ihey would hear lots of music 
in Ihe evening, and said the club band had been round the village, and, 
taking off her straw hat, beat upon it with her little fist in imitation of 
the drummer. And the summer afternoon sped quickly on. 

But what is that sound of men's voices raised high in altercation 
from the other side of the canal banks, which causes the children to 
turn affrighted glances in that direction? 

They can see nothing, but yet turn cold with fright as one volc^ 
above the others, rises in the air with a note of terror. 

" Vou surely do not mean to let me drown ? Help ! Help ! " 

The agonised cry rings out on the balmy stillness of the July day. 
From the vast expanse of blue a cloud seems to have arisen, through 
which the sun's beams lose their warmth and light. 

Splashing sounds, a choking voice, and then all is still once more— 
dreadfully still, whilst the terrified children cling to each other, and 
after gazing with horror-struck faces at the bank above them, huny 
home over the daisy-strewn fields. 

Their aunt is there, looking cross and more seveie than ever, with 
a scolding ready for them for having come in late for tea ; to which 
meal they sit down with scared faces, the great dread they possesi 
for their relative preventing them saying a word in explanation. 

And that night they whisper in a (lightened manner as they slip 
between the sheets of their bed, whilst the moonbeams light up the 
room, and from afar off the sounds of music are borne faintly to their 

" One o' them fellers from that theer theayter at t' I 'ceast wor 
drownded yisterday artemoon i' t' canal. 'E wor took wi' t" cramps 
an' they worn't near enow ter git 'im out afore 'e wor done for," 

And as uncle gave out this information he applied himself with 
great zest to his breakfast of fried bacon, whilst his wife said 
solemnly, " I niver hecrd on it. I only 'ope as the man wor pro- 
pared ter die. An' I hope it'll be a wamin' to you childer niver to 
go down alone to that theer canal soide." 

It was. 

But the children never forgot. 


170 TJie GentUmaiCs Magaeine. 


Part I. Thb Ancient City, 

Inde P'oium Julii parvam nunc veoimus uibem ; 
Apparent veteris vestigia magna (heatri, 
Ingentes arcus et thcrmx et ductus aquaram ; 
Apparet moles antiqui diiula porius, 
Atque ubi portus erat, liccum nunc littus el horti. 

(Euvrts du Chandelier mSpital, FOASISS LATINU. 

AS a proof of the enchantment lent by distance, the assumption 
may be hazarded that the Roman remains at Frfjus would 
perhaps be better known to the generality of travellers were these 
ruins less accessible from the great European centres ; for minute 
accounts of antiquities situated in far more distant climes ate not 
infrequently given to the press — even in volume form. 

The chief value to be attached to the Forum Julii ruins lies in 
their general representative character. Although certain towns that 
might be mentioned, in the South of France, possess Roman 

All thai Remains of Forum Julii. 1 7 1 

The importance of Forum Julii greatly consisted in its maritime 
pre-eminence, and it is for this reason that attention will be directed 
in the first insunce to the Port, 

Two great problems in connection with the ancient port of Forum 
Jtilii have exercised the minds not only of purely Fr^jusian writers, 
but also of those archEologtsts, historiographers, and hydrographers 
hailing from other parts of France, who have fastened their attention 
upon this complicated subject, Upon neither of these questions can 
there be said to exist unanimity of opinion. The first and most 
important of these two points is to the effect — whether the sea, in 
Roman times, attained the circurovallatory walls of Forum Julii, 
The second, which is dependent upon the first, is in reference to 
whether, in case the sea fell short of the Gallo-Roman town, the 
space circumscribed by the harbour buildings and quays was 
connected with the open sea by a broad channel. M. Charles 
Texier ' aud M. Lentheric ' are of opinion that the sea reached the 
southern bases of the eastern and western citadels, without, how- 
ever, stating to what extent the waters penetrated on the eastern 
and western sides of the fortifications generally. Besides drawing 
attention to the fact that, in his time (1828-9), while great traces 
remained, as at present, of both the quays and of the walls, not a 
vestige of the channel worVs was perceptible between the harbour 
entrance and the sea,' M. Texier grounds his belief on the discovery of" 
marine shells on and beneath the surface of the whole extent of the 
sand-downs separating Fr^jus from the Mediterranean. Such, indeed, 
is the case ; but this fact is far from sufRcient to settle the question. 
Shells and other marine dibHs are found at a distance of no less than 
thirty-five kilometres inland, and at an altitude of over eight hundred 
metres, namely, as far as Mons, whither, in prehistoric times, the sea 
penetrated, as M. Texier himself does not neglect to state. The 
point under discussion is bow iiir the sea came in Homan times. 
In the elucidation of this problem in panicular, the opinion of 

' Mlmeira sur la Ville tl It Port dt Frfjui. (Collection des M^moiies 
pr^nl^ 1 rAcad^mie de: Inscriplions et Belles. Leiir«s.) 

' Prtvenet Marilimi ancimm it modtrnt. 

' Although M. Texier discovered no signs of ihe channel luUuuc lures, yel, 
in M) anpabliihcd merocHr drawn up at u comparatively lemoie a date as 1698 
by • navil anginMr, ibe «incnec of the channel in quesiion it clearly affirmed, 
AbM Ginirdin, in both bit works (Histein dt Frijui and Nelict tl Ihiiripiiea 
kiileriqtt du Dittiit He FrJjus), alludes to the waterway aa iT Ibe maltet admiltcd 
of no doubt. Girardln was totally nnacquainlcd with ihc mcmtHrof 1698. Seventy- 
Gv« yort l>l«r M. Vallun and M. Segaud, cn^neo) (at ihe riovince, vouched 
for the nme bet, while ia 1803, the anJueological commission, presided over 
tr CoUDt de VilleDtuve-BargetnoDt, iltongly tuppoiled the idea. 


172 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

M. Aubenas, a resident in Fr^jus during the last quarter of a centuiy 
of his life, who filled the office of mayor of the town, a portion that 
gave him the necessary local influence and authority to make researches 
and to cany out excavations, and who, moreover, devoted five years 
to the composition of his most valuable work,' must cany especial 
weight when compared with the views formed by certain others who, 
whatever their scientific attainments may have been, were, at the 
most, mere visitors to the locality. It is only, in sober truth, by 
repeated visits and by a most careful study of the spot, supported by 
the documentary authority offered by the writings of M. Aubenas 
and his predecessors, that a firm grasp of the subject can be obtained. 
It is, in fact, a matter of no small difficulty to trace the outlines of a 
large port upon a superficies which, without previous knowledge, 
offers but slight signs of having formerly been the site of such a 
maritime centre, this very surface (given up to agricultural purposes) 
lying, moreover, at a totally different level from what was the case 
in Roman times, as well as to give an acceptable notion of the 
approximate date when loose sand-hills, the result of silt cast up by 
the Argens * and Reyran, and a more level and solid earth's surface 
encrusted with a coating of heather, dotted hither and thither with 
small farmsteads and mean-looking shanties, formed the bottom of 
the Mediterranean. 

It is for these various reasons, as well as on account of the actual 
grounds put forth by M. Aubenas for his belief, that the writer of these 
papers adopts this historian's opinion in preference to any of an 
opposite tendency laid down with no inconsiderable amount of 
plausibility, ingenuity, erudition, and confidence by Texier and 
Lentb^ric, and also in spite of some preconceived opinions of his 
own, which M. Aubenas's statements have served to dispel. 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 173 

antiquity by the sea, and that the mode of communication with the 
ancient city was by a causeway. This would have brought the sea 
to the south-west of the town, that is to say, to the other side of the 
Butte Saint -An toine. Nevertheless, not a trace of this presumed 
causeway has ever been discovered. It is true, also, that the admir- 
ably preserved wall that formed the limits of the ihertnte in the 
direction facing the town is of a thickness and massive construc- 
tion generally that would almost encourage the belief that this bul- 
wark may have served as a protection against the inroads of the 
waters, the more so as the vestiges of a tower and what seems to 
have been some kind of a fortification, not dissimilar to the buildings 
in close proximity to the Laiilerne, are also to be easily descried at 
the extremity of the wall in question lying nearest to t!ie high road ; 
but, on the other hand, all who are familiar with the magnificence 
that the Romans were accustomed to lavish upon the construction 
of their baths, as exemplified particularly by the imposing remains 
of those of Caracalla, would only see in what is preserved at Fr^jus 
an indispensable adjunct to such a building. Moreover, besides the 
ruins of a sace/lum or small temple originally constructed without a 
roof, and known in the district by the name of " La Tourrache," 
several Roman tombs made of bricks, stone, and marble were dis- 
covered about forty years ago in a private properly situated half-way 
between Fr^jus and the "Thermes." One of the stone sarcophagi 
and the debris of one of the marble tombs are to be seen in the 
town museum. Furthermore, towards the south-east, and between 
five and si\ hundred metres from Fr^jus, what is considered to have 
been a tomb, or perhaps part of the basement of a dwelling-house, 
has also been unearthed on the new Valescure road ; while extending 
theione to Sainl-Aygulf,a spot dear to the lovers of solitude, situated 
at Ihc extremity of the Gulf of Fr^jus, and five miles, as the crow flies, 
from Saint- Raphai^l, which beautiful winter station it faces, Roman 
substructures are still to be found at a distance that must necessarily 
have been covered by the sea, had its waters bathed the feet of the 
Forum Julii ramparts. 

It may be confidently asserted that, in the opinion of an 
inexperienced or uninitiated observer, nothing would seem to exist 
visibly distinguishing from the surrounding district the tract form- 
ing in Roman times the interior of the harbour of I'otum Julii. 
Nought is to be seen but a succession of fields divided from each 
other merely according to ownership ; but when we begin to care- 
fully examine the remnants of antiquity surrounding the huge space, 
then are our eyes opened. 


174 "^^ GentUmatCs Magxdnt. 

After somewhat wearisomelj plodding across the kilontetre and *. 
half of dunes separating the sea-coast from the approaches of FrJjus, 
oar gaze b attracted by a somewhat remarkable object This is an 
hexagonal ' brick tourelk, erected on a semicircular base and sur- 
mounted by a pointed cone or pyramid, which is also six-sided. 
The summit is separated from the mass of the edifice by a single 
layer of bricks resembling a cornice or hem. The height of the 
whole prismatic building hardly exceeds ten metres. This measure- 
ment would make it inferior in altitude to the ramparts, the tower? 
of the enceinte, and the citadels. This pointed tower has long been 
known in the district by the name of the " Lanteme." For a long 
period this building was considered — not only by the people of 
the region, but even at a late date by eminent authorities, such, for 
instance, as Girardin and de Bargemont, in spite of its comparatively 
diminutive dimensions, which did not permit it to be discernible 
from the open sea, and notwithstanding the important fact that no 
traces existed of any contrivance by which a permanent light could 
have been furnished, the entire edifice being solid — to have constituted 
the lighthouse of Forum Julii. This erroneous impression prevailed 
until the days of M, Texier, who has done so much to elucidate 
certain obscure notions concerning the Fr^jus remains. This 
deservedly considered great authority dispelled this delusion b7 
assigning to the little monument its correct destination. The real 
lighthouse, the summit of which was visible from the offing,* M. 
Texier placed much further back, at a distance of 530 metres. To 
mention two very modern examples, the faro at Viareggio and the 
lighthouse at Ambleteuse are disposed in a similar situation, as was 
also "Ha^ pharos at Alexandria (described in Caesar's Commentaries), 
The Lanlerne he declared to be merely 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 175 

■s, and to point out in particular to them the entrance to the 
harbour. It is surmised that at night a small Hgbt was attached by 
some simple process to the summit of the pyramid. This idea of 
M. Texier's is borne out by what remains of former buildings in the 
immediate vicinity, It is supported by Aubcnas, who is convinced 
of its accuracy, and it is undoubtedly the correct one.' The Lanlerne 
has undergone excessive restorations at the base and on three of the 

We have now planted our footsteps upon what was two thousand 
years ago the extremity of the southern quay of the ancient harbour 
of Forum Julii, Topographically, there is little to cause such an idea 
to arise in the minds e\'en of the initiated, beyond the fact thai the 
part upon which we are now stationed lies at a very trifling elevation 
(at this point, perhaps, a couple of feet) above the level artificially 
created over the original bottom of the ancient port Even this very 
modest elevation is diminished at other parts along the remnant of 
the quays. Adjoining the Lanterne are ruins of strong fortifications. 
The semicircular base of a demitour measuring 5 metres 50 
centimetres in the interior can be distinctly traced, as well as the 
remains of other works, including a triple bastion. Immediately 
facing the Lanlerne, from which it is separated only by a r 
passage two metres in breadth, is a solid block of masonry composed 
of tufa and lava. M. Teutier considers this shapeless mass to have 
been the base of an adimlum or small temple, a sacred edifice 
invariably placed at the entrance of Roman harbours. Skirting this 
huge massif and the foot of the Lanterne is a circular space re- 
presenting an exhtdra or esplanade, where it is surmised that sailors 
and other spectators assembled to view the shipping entering and 
leaving the port.' 

' The entrance lo Ibe channel leadiog Id (he haibouT of Foium Julii not 
having licen, pcchapg, easily perceptible at aiglil, another lighthoose was erected 
upon an islet, which, seen from Ihe spot where ihe channel effected its junction 
with the lea, appears admirably situated for such a purpose. Strictly speaking, 
tbe iilel in question and an adjacent one ate in front of Saint- Raphael. ¥iam 
lonte whimsical resemhUnce lo a wild animal in a crouching posture, this islet, a. 
potphyritic rock of a ruddy, tawny hue, has been denominated the " LJondeMec." 
The »eeood, which is closer to the shore, of a simitai geol<^eal constitution, but 
less fiotascic in shape, has, ai a result of titular assimilation, been termed the 
*' L(oD dc Terre." We arc of opinion that the latter insulated fragment formed 
pin in remoie time< of the mainUnd 
Roimond <lc Soliers, the two rocks w 

t of the mainUtHl. In the time of Hliny, according to Julet 

e connected, (omiing 01 

island under the 

* An instance of cosily i-nndolism Ihai w 
undcntanding b furnished by the cjntcmplat 

lid not appeal to the average 
I of this eitreme limit of th« 

176 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

The entrance to the harbour, which naturally coincided vith the 
breadth of the artificial channel, was S3 metres in vridth. As we 
have taken the whilom existence of this channel Tor granted, the 
present may not be an inappropriate moment for stating that, irre- 
tpeclive of the essential fact of the harbour having been maintained 
by the water penetrating from the sea through the fairway, it is 
believed by M. Fauchet,' M. de Bargemont, M. Texier, and M. 
Aubenas ^ that a very large additional supply was obtained by bring- 
ing a derivative of the Argens in the direction of Fonim Julii, for the 
purpose of giving an impetus to the channel water and thus helping to 
preserve the way clear of the quartzose sand and Other deposits cast 
ap at its mouth. Situated within a distance of three kilometres from 
Fr^jus, and standing in some fields, slightly to the left of the high 
load leading to Puget-sur-Argens, is a remarkably well preserved 
monument dating from the Roman occupation. This is an extremely 
solidly yet elegantly constructed stone bridge. Owing to the ad- 
ditional elevation of the ground perceptible in the entire plain 
through which the Argens and Reyran flow, the supports of the 
bridge are partly buried, while the arches, especially the one on the 
northern side, protrude but slightly above the ground. It may safely 
be assumed that no water in any volume has flowed under this 
bridge for ages ; but a streamlet sluggishly crawls under the central 
arch, while a ditch-shaped depression is traceable for a considerable 
distance on the Puget side. The orientation of the structure is from 
north to south, and it is considered that it was built over the artificial 
branch of the Argens to which we are alluding, in order to reconnect 
the Gulf of Saint-Tropez with Forum Voconii ' and the mountainous 
region extending far to the north of Fr^jus. The arm of the river 
thus diverted flowed direct to Forum Julii in a line almost parallel 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 177 

them by the above-mentioned distance of 83 metres, are some sub- 
structures. Upon this foundation a small farmhouse has been built. 
The vestiges of antiquity at this point are considered by Peiresc, 
Montfaucon, Abb^ Girardin, and M. de Bargemont to be ruins of 
fortifications that corresponded to those formerly existing in immediate 
proximity to the Lanteme. There is less to be described on this inner 
side of the harbour than upon the external quay looking seawards, 
and the description may be completed at once. Proceeding for a dis- 
tance of 166 metres along this northern mole in a straight line towards 
the west, we come to another small farmhouse, termed by Aubenas the 
comigne Mhge^ also built upon ancient substructures in the form of 
arches. Litde beyond the vaults protrude above ground. From an 
archaeological point of view, the Roman remains upon which the 
cofisigne M^ge is built are of great interest and value. Facing us, as 
we approach the end of the quay, is a square mass of solid masonry 
several feet in height At the back the Roman foundation is also 
discernible, terminated by an arched entrance, i fleur de sol^ leading 
into what bears a resemblance to a subterranean chamber. The 
upper part of the arch is well preserved. Near approach is not an 
easy matter. The ground in front is marshy and covered with high 
dank weeds, formidable brambles and undergrowth, while near the 
arch is a large pool of stagnant water, around the edges of which is 
rotting straw. It is advisable to close one's nostrils when making 
an inspection. Aubenas considers that a guard-house was situated 
here. Along the entire way separating these two farmhouses, remains 
of the ancient quay are distinctly traceable in the shape of massive 
portions of what may have been the parapet. On leaving the home- 
stead last alluded to, we turn abruptly to the right and follow a 
beaten path for a distance of 144 metres. The limits of the 
port can here be traced by a trifling difference in the elevation of 
the ground, which is indicated by a row of pollard willows. All 
further signs of the harbour disappear at this point. Some traces 
existed as late as 1840, but they were deliberately swept away in 
the course of some alterations made upon his land by a peasant 
proprietor. With the disappearance of these ancient maritime marks 
any precise notion is also lost of the direction taken by the line of 
quay at this spot : whether it cur\'ed towards the " Cours " — that is to 
say, towards the west — or whether, continuing in a northerly direction, 
it joined the angle of the " Plate-Forme " or eastern citadel. We are 
inclined to favour the latter theory, in spite of some reasons advanced 
by Aubenas in support of the contrary; for on the western and 
southern sides of the eastern citadel various magazines, store-houses, 

1/8 The Gentieman's Magazine. 

and granaries were constructed for the use of the Roman navy ; and 
in OUT opinion it is more probable that the waters bathed this part, 
thus facilitating egress from and ingress to the magazines. The 
adoption of this plan of the harbour's circuit would give to this side 
— starting from the consigm Mige — a development in a straight line 
of nearly 450 metres. 

It is from this part of Fr^jus, especially from the artificial elevation 
dating from Roman times and now known as the " Cours," that it is 
permitted to us to realise and admire the magnificent proportions of 
what was once the ancient port of Forum Julii. Far away to the left 
is the Lanterne, appearing almost stumpy bom the point where we 
are sUtioned. Adjoining the hexagonal tourelk, and extending 
across the dunes in the direction of ^int-Raphael, is a wall between 
three and four metres in height, of which 114 metres are admirably 
I reserved. The survival of what remains of this wall or courtim, 
which, when erect in its entirety, extended to the sea, attuning the 
water's edge at the point where the opening of the charmel was 
situated, affords a proof that this channel existed. The thickness of 
the courtine, which does not exceed 85 centimetres, would not have 
been sufficient to form a bulwark successfully resisting the violence 
of the waves. Neither could it have been a defensive work. The 
construction, however, possessed sufficient solidity to ful&l the 
purpose for which its builders, in the opinion of Girardin, Teiier, 
and Aubenas, intended it. This was to prevent the channel being 
choked and rendered unnavigable by the sands deposited by the 
Argens, as well as to protect it from the Laiech or south-west wind, 
one of the most dangerous of the Mediterranean. Even now a 
narrow stream, known as the Canal des Moulins, or Cougourdier, 
follows as nearly as possible, although in a most restricted sense, the 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 179 

worthy of their reputation for perennial durability had not the hand 
of man, living in a less classic age, hastened their destruction with 
thoughtless, not to say contemptuous, deliberation, and even aided to 
forestall their final disappearance. At one point a huge block of at 
least twenty metres in length has been hurled from its foundations, 
apparently by means of some explosive. A little further on, along the 
mural line, three paltry tenements have been built. In the instance 
of two of these one-storeyed huts the builders had the moderation to 
utilise the noble old wall merely as the backs of the premises, and 
have contented themselves with wantonly destroying sufficient of the 
monument to allow space for a trumpery gateway ; but in the case 
of the third and somewhat larger maisonnette, the ingenious architect 
has demolished no less than twenty metres of the rampart in order 
to build the back of a house, the purpose of which would be loo 
appropriately served if it were devoted to housing one or two cows 
and storing garden tools. An Act — " La loi de classement des 
monuments historiques" — is in existence for preserving ancient 
monuments from such acts of vandalism, which, judging from a 
minute inspection that we have made of the Fnfjus antiquities, 
have been tolerably frequent throughout all ages, while the Sorri^te 
d'Arch^oIogie de Marseille, the object of which is " the study and 
preservation of the monuments and vestiges of antiquity in Provence," 
has quite recently been constituted. What remains of this wall 
extends in its broken line for a distance of 156 metres, It was 
originally four metres in height Its altitude is now but one-third 
of that measurement. Its thickness is one metre twenty centi- 
metres. We then pass, on our right, a row of seventeen tall poplars, 
which trees, in the total absence of the wall for a space of \^6 metres, 
seem in the far distance, as perceived from the Cours, to form a 
clearly marked limit to this portion of what was once the famous 
port. We are now separated from the inner extremity of the 
harbour but by a distance of 130 metres. The pathway is now 
skirted on the right by a modern wall. Bulging from the base of 
thij construction for & length of a few yards are signs of a solid 
mass of ancient masonry, which is visible in a meadow on the 
opposite side of this boundary. This fragment forms the remains of 
a kind of guardhouse that was intended for the accommodation of 
the tohortet vigiiium. Situated in the midst of this field is a large 
farm-house, the foundations of which are laid upon some ponderous 
substructures. Here in antiquity stood what French archaeologists 
term the Consij^ne. It was a fortified post where a small detachment 
of UOOps was stationed. This fortress was so situated as to be able 

i8o The Gentleman's Magasuu, 

to command the'entrance to the harbour, and thus to inflict d 
upon any inimical craft that might attempt to enter. 

We have now reached the base of the harbour, which is formed 
by the eastern front of the Butte Saint-Antoine. This side of the 
western citadel is|in ariematkable sute of preservation. It is lao 
metres in length. Immediately facing us, as we arrive at the termina- 
tion of the pathway 'or quay, is an arched entrance bordered on 
either side by massively constructed walls and surmounted by the 
ruins of a lofty tower, the part of which boasting the greater degree 
of preservation raises its dilapidated head in the form of a blunted 
point. This tower was the lighthouse of Forum Julil 

Owing to the demolition of one-half of the western citadel, all 
traces of the ancient rampart are lost until we approach the neigh- 
bourhood of the Porte d'Or^e. Facing this monument, eighty metres 
of the wall survive. At the further extremity another wide gap, 
caused by the opening of the Rue GrisoU^ occurs. Crossing this 
space, we thread a narrow alley, observing on our left the well- 
preserved traces of the walls forming the foundation of the houses 
composing one side of the Rue Castelli. Emerging from this lane, 
we debouch upon a hardly less exiguous street, which brings us 
back to the Place du Cours, whence our wandering gaze, with the 
accuracy of actual footsteps, has led us, in order to contemplate and 
enjoy a coup tTaii of great rarity. It is a view worth dwelling upon, 
for we are now beholding what was once the scene of the most 
triumphant episode in the history of Forum Julii. It was to this 
port that the three hundred galleys were conducted that had been 
captured by Agrippa and Octavius after the defeat of Antony and 
Cleopatra at the battle of Actium. This is the most ancient fact 
mentioned by history in connection with Forum Julii. From that 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. i8i 

to Foram Julii with "picked sailors." * By a curious omission, 
Suetonius does not mention the name of Forum Julii in connection 
with this memorable victory, the author of the " History of the 
Twelve Caesars " merely remarking that " he (Augustus) still had a 
fleet at Misenum andjanother at Ravenna, to protect the two seas." 
The beginning of the decline of the port of Forum Julii was 
almost coincident with the commencement of the decadence of the 
Roman power. In these latter days, communication had only been 
maintained with the open sea by constant dredging. Owing to the 
sand cast up by the sea at the entrance to the channel, the waterway 
became gradually choked.* Simultaneously, as some authorities 
consider, the deposits thrown up by the Reyran and the Argens 
became irresistible ; and as, under pressure of formidable attacks 
from without, the Roman Empire itself began to sink, the attention 
of the central government was gradually withdrawn from this distant 
colony. In course of time what had once been not only the 
principal port of Cisalpine Gaul, but also one of the most consider- 
able of the Empire, lost all claim to any such distinction. In the 
Middle Ages nought remained but a pestiferous swamp. The malaria 
emanating therefrom conduced to the town earning a reputation for 
insalubrity which clung to it for many generations. At length, in 
1784, health was restored to the fever-stricken district. Although 
competent engineers had demonstrated many years previously that 
the restoration of the harbour was entirely within the bounds of 
possibility, sufficient funds could never be raised for that object. 
It was therefore determined to fill up the port. This result was 
brought about by deviating the Reyran torrent, which carries 

' AnnaleSf Lib. iv. 4, 5. 

' An idea of the action of the sea — which was to a great extent the cause of 
what may be tenned the •* stifling " of the harbour of Forum Julii— can be formed 
at the present moment. At a distance of two or three kilometres from Saint- 
Rai^ae^I, and towards the centre of the curve forming the Gulf of Fr^jus, a slender 
arm of the Argens flows into the Mediterranean. Some stakes driven into the 
gioond bordering the streamlet are now almost buried by the sand cast up by 
the sea. Only the tops are visible just protruding above the surface. A little 
farther, some massive brick gate-posts that once flanked the principal entrance to 
a large and very modem house, but which have been separated from the grounds 
facing the mansion by the exigencies of a road that skirts the circuit of the bay 
as far as the point where the Argens flows into the sea, are also almost covered t^ 
the sand. The Argens, at its mouth, was until of late spanned by a bridge. 
This structure has been mysteriously destroyed, with the result that all com- 
munication has been cut ofl" at this part with Saint-Aygulf and Sainte-Maxime. 
It would be well if this bridge were rebuilt, if only to confirm the statement in 
the Saint-RaphaSl « Guide " to the effect that it is still traversible. 

1 82 The Gentleman's Magasine. 

with it a great quantity of sand, gravel, and stones, into the 
harbour. By this means a domain of great fertility was added 
to the region. M. Grisolle greatly contributed to this important 
enterprise. With r^aid to the restoration of the harbour, any 
results, problematical at the best, that might have been attained 
would hardly have justified the expenses that so considerable an 
engineering exploit would have entailed. Beyond the manufacture 
of some coarse pottery of a metallic hue resembling that of burnt coal 
from which all the gas has been extracted, Fr^jus can boast of 
little trade or industry. Leaving Saint-Tropez ' entirely out of the 
question, which, judging by ±e number of vessels annually entering 
and leaving, is visited with a considerable amount of commercial 
prosperity, the small haven of Saint Raphael answers all the purposes 
of a maritime outlet to Fr^jus. The national importance of the 
latter vanished ages since, and is beyond recall. Should, however, 
the outlying district of Saint-Raphael, known as Valescure, still con- 
tinue to attract visitors, some degree of prosperity might be drawn to 
Frijus, as this recendy created shady retreat seems inclined to extend 
towards the old town. Although the hoary remains of antiquity 
encircle Fr^jus with a melancholy halo of veneration, an invisible 
aureole translated into human thought by a sentiment of sublime 
sorrow that confers an interest upon the most insignificant object 
contained within its walls, the indescribable attraction even seeming 
to clothe with a coating of age the most repugnant matters of detail 
dating but from the day before yesterday, yet Fr^jus is but a small 
town, the principal street of which, tike two lofty walls, encloses 
the high road stretching between Cannes and Toulon. The thought 
can be pursued still further so as to carry us back, as in a circle, 
to our starting-point. In spite of this strange interest cast upon 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 183 

Paule, in comparison with the overwhelming enthrahnent shed by 
the majestic niins. 

A monument that does not fail to impress the curious — even those 
who approach such relics with the least professional eye — is a lofty 
ardi, upon which has been conferred, somewhat negligently, the name 
of the " Porte Dorfc." The materials entering into its construction 
are red grit-stone, porphyry, and bricks. The sun of Provence has 
caused the edifice to assume so rich a hue of mingled brown and red 
that one writer, M. Lenth^ric, has thought it worth denying that 
this ardent coloration is the origin of its name (Porte d'Or^ Porta 
Aurea), It has been very liberally restored, especially upon the side 
facing what was once the harbour, and it is this side which, strange 
to say, has attracted the photographer and post-card reproducer, 
although the more rugged surface, turned towards the town, affords a 
view of the original form of construction in its most striking charac- 
teristics. Before alluding to the various discussions that have arisen 
among competent authorities concerning the origin or correctness of 
this appellation, '* Porte Dor^e," it may be as well to state that any 
reference to this isolated fragment can be most opportunely made 
in combination with the remarks accompanying our description of 
the port, as the spot whereupon this archway has been erected 
furnishes a fairly accurate idea of the limits attained by the waters in 
the dassin in ancient times. This archway is the sole survivor of five 
others of similar dimensions, the six having formed in their entirety the 
arched entrances to a colonnade or stoa^ which gave access to the port, 
and from the latter to the town. The ornamentation of the edifice was 
originally in white marble and of the Ionic order. These arches, which 
supported a massive roof of unusual height, were flanked, according 
to Girardin and M. de Bargemont, by extensive buildings, intended 
presumably for the accommodation of the custom-house employes 
and other port officials. In 1829 M. Texier, in the course of his 
excavations at this spot, discovered various apartments that had 
evidently been originally built upon a scale of great luxury, and with 
an elegance and magnificence denoting much taste. He unearthed 
flights of steps as well as rooms ornamented with deep blue and 
white marbles, and adorned with carved stucco, mural paintings, and 
statuary. The archaeologist's examination terminated, the priceless 
remains were simply covered up once more by the local authorities, 
with the earth that had originally concealed them. Certain traces 
in the form of the summits of a few almost entirely obliterated niches 
are stated to have been discernible about a quarter of a century ago 
upon the vestiges of the Roman rampart flanking the opposite side 

i84 The Gentieman's Magazine. 

of the steep rough loadwar, along which a cart horse can hardly 
stumble, that passes by the "Porte Doric." We, however, have 
utterly failed to discover any such signs, so encumbered is the ground 
with colossal heaps of rubbish and debris. Boieath this roadway 
these valuable relics are buried at a considerable depth, the superficies 
having become much Rused. They are likely to remain for ever lost 
to human gaze, for this declivity, which in antiquity was the site cX 
a magnificent flight of marble steps, but which is now merely an 
accumulation of indescribable refuse and sweepings hardened into 
the solidity of stone, constitutes at the present moment one of the 
principal entries to Frijus, 

The origin of the name " Porte Doric " has given rise to much 
discussion and to not a little original speculation. It has been 
surmised that this name was conferred upon the edifice dtber 
because in antiquity it was studded at regular intervals with huge 
gilt nails, some of which, Girardin maintains, were perceptible in the 
monument even as late as bis own time, that is to say, previous to 
1739; or, secondly, in figurative allusion to the great wealth that 
passed under this archway in the fonn of the rich merchandise 
inevitably associated with a great commercial emporium. The first 
of these explanations may be set aside as improbable, while the 
second carries nothing especially confirmatory with it, as gates SO 
denominated were to be found in various ancient towns. A third 
definition has been offered by M. Texier, and this latter is probably 
the correct one. " Forte Dorie," it is maintained, is merely a 
corruption of Porta Ora, the Shore Gate, or gate through which all 
had to pass when proceeding to or leaving the waterside. In old 
French it could be rendered literally by Porte d'Orie. From this 
rendering to the construction of the popular local term of the 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 1 85 

(rf the fitct that the Forum Julii amphitheatre principally owes its 
state of dilapidation to the destructive hand of man. 

The Romans erected their chief place of amusement just outside 
the rampartSi the fortifications continuing their circuit without even 
grazing the amphitheatre, although the distance separating them 
was so slight that the north-eastern side of the edifice rested upon 
a foundation of volcanic rock that formed part of the high bank 
sustained on the other side by the wall of circumvallation. When 
built it was a magnificent structure ; and, presuming that the interior 
circular colonnade crowning the edifice in the times of the Romans 
was occupied during representations, the circus contained accommoda- 
tion for twelve thousand spectators, for whom space was provided on 
seventeen tiers of seats divided into three precinctions.^ The vomi- 
toria leading to the tiers of seats composing the first precinction 
were built, as can still be seen, upon a plan of great ingenuity, so 
as to avoid draughts. Marble entered considerably into the con- 
struction of this edifice, even barriers being made of this material 
Doric pilasters contributed to its adornment, while, among metals, 
bronze was plentifully and artistically used. 

Of all former magnificence nought now remains above ground, 
speaking generally, but a shell-shaped base ; of the profuse yet 
tasteful ornamentation nothing but a fragment of the entablature 
that once belonged to the upper colonnade. The surface of the 
smaller axis, or actual amphitheatre wherein the wild beast fights and 
gladiatorial and other combats took place, is, by an accumulation 
and solidification of earth and d^bris^ raised at least three or four 
metres above its original level, so that full justice cannot even be 
done to what actually remains. At the height of about one foot 
above the ground on the south-western side (the orientation of the 
ellipse being, in the sense of its length, north-east and south-west), 
the vaults of arches are seen protruding. Within these constructions, 
that have become subterranean, and which were termed cavea or 
rfln'fr(f J, the wild beasts intended for the "games" were confined. 
On the north-eastern side, as the result of an excavation, the wall, in 
a perfect state of preservation, forming the barrier to the podium has 
been laid bare for a length of thirty metres. It is probable that the 
entire periphery of the podium would be found to be still surrounded 
by the marble socles, fastened by bronze gudgeons in a massif ol 
hard grit-stone, were it possible to continue the excavations ; but 

' Judging by the dimensions of the amphitheatre and the perimeter of the 
etucintet the population of Forum Julii amounted to between thirty thousand and 
thirty-five thousand people. 

VOL. ccxcvii. NO. 2084. Q 

1 86 The Gentieman's Magazine. 

such an undertaking is impiacticable. The north-eastern side of the 
amphitheatre, which rested on the volcanic nx^ has almost eDdreljr 
disappeared. The principal portion of the titde that remains has 
been restored with great care and skill There are still some 
remnants of the consular entrance. On the north-western side two 
precinctions, five vomitoria, and the lower gallery are still preserved. 
Of the magnificent exterior fa^de there remains not a trace; while 
the massive, rugged, irregular blocks of masonry, or fragments of 
walls, which, when in their perfect state, primarily served to enclose 
the corridor-shaped openings of the different tiers and to support 
the Bights of steps conducting to the three precinctions and to the 
colonnade, now protrude outwardly from the ruin like so many 

At a date that cannot be fixed with certainty, although the &ct is 
vouched for by M. Texier, marble works were established in due 
form within the arena, with the deliberate purpose of stripping the 
amphitheatre of its most valuable materials and of utilising them for 
other buildings. The great rarity of sandstone was, perhaps, the 
cause of the destruction of this and other monuments. To mention 
an instance farther afield, the stupendous amphitheatre of El-Djem 
{Civitas Tkysdrus), in Tunis, built by the first Gordian, has been 
utilised by the people of the surrounding district as a common stone 
quarry for centuries. With regard to Fr^jus, sandstone in any con- 
siderable quantities could only be obtained from a great distance. 
The parapets, battlements, and steps, having all been made of this 
substance, have been carried away at different periods. An immense 
amount of material has thus been put to ordinary uses, so that although 
the constructions due to the Romans have irremediably suffered by 
thesewholesaleactsofdestruction and spoliation, the town of Fr^jus,a 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 187 

of circumvallation situated at the rear of the site formerly occupied 
by the ancient Roman theatre — of which, in sad contrast to the stately 
edifice in its wonderful state of preservation at Orange, only the ruins 
of four of the gradients that upheld the tiers of seats still survive — \% 
preserved to its full height At certain points which, on account of 
their strategic importance or more exposed outlying situation, neces- 
sitated still greater protection, more formidable defences were devised. 
Such extra defences are to be observed in the two citadels. The 
Plate-Forme^ or eastern citadel, is flanked by colossal buttresses on 
the southern side. Of such huge strength and dimensions are these 
counterforts that it is difficult to realise, when approaching their 
vicinity from the summit of the citadel, that these protruding blocks 
of masonry are not supplementary walls. A still more remarkable 
method of fortifying is to be observed on the further side of the 
western citadel, or Butte Saint-Antoine, as it is more frequently 
termed, on account of a chapel (now disused), dedicated to that saint, 
which crowns its summit. Resting upon a solid foundation, semi- 
circular substructures or arches have been built into the side of the 
butte or redan. These niche-like cavities, of which the interior 
diameter averaged about 3 metres, were filled by the Roman engineers 
with marine sand ground to a fine powder. The openings were then 
masked by a strong wall. Admitting the possibility that these 
defensive recesses would be insufficient to protect the citadel from 
the rams, ballistas, and other war machines, an additional wall was 
built upon this exterior, to which it closely adhered like a curtain of 
masonry. Six metres from the extremity of the redan, and parallel to 
it, another wall has been sunk, so to speak, in the massif oi the earth- 
work, so that if the powerful exterior protection had been battered 
down, the citadel might still have held good.^ Join to this the rocky 
foundation upon which this flank of the citadel rests — an idea can be 
formed of the extreme care and consummate skill that the Romans 
brought to bear upon their protective works. M. Victor Petit^ states 
that modern engineers have not been able to invent any more effectual 
method than here described when banking up the mobile sides of 
railway cuttings. It would be difficult to invoke a stronger argument 
in support of the practical knowledge to be derived from a study of 
ancient Roman engineering works. 

This religious instrument, unique of its kind, excited the admiration of the savant 
world for two centuries. Both have been << lost." 

* Of these substructures, which may also be described as small buttresses, with 
the addition of the earth being sustained at the back by brickwork in a semi- 
circular form, fourteen are visible in a greater or less degree of preservation. 

* Noti Descriptiv€t 1865. 

1 88 The Gettiieman's Magazine. 

Bearing in mind the extent of the walls, means of ingress and 
egress seem to have been sparse at Fonim JuUl The remains of 
the rery few city gates are but slight, and here again to human in- 
difference and destmctiveness is to be attributed the almost total 
disappearance of the ancient portals. The principal entnmce seems 
to have been the "Roman Gate."' It was erected at a spot 
separating the Forum and the Campus Martius from the theatre 
precincts. It did not constitute the absolute entrance to the town 
on this side, for the rampart passed about thirty metres in front 
of it. The real gate, of which not a vestige remains, was constructed 
in a line with the wall. 

What has been denominated the "Roman Gate" by the old 
Fr^jusian historians was an ornamental structure, a kind of triumphal 
arch rather than a town entrance in the strict sense of the term. 
Girardin described it as being " the most magnificent town gate in 
Fiance." It spanned the road built two centuries and a half before 
our era by Consul Aurelius Cotta, the Via Aurelia. In Girardin's 
time the arch facing the west still existed, but its key-stone 
seemed loose. It is stated by M. de Bargemont that, during the war 
of 1744, a French general who was passing tlirough Fr^jus, impressed 
with the idea that the heavy block might fall upon the heads of his 
men as they marched under it, ordered the demolition of the monu- 
ment. When the work of destruction had proceeded to anitiemedi- 
able extent, it was discovered that any catastrophe of the kind dreaded 
by the general had been guarded against by the skilful Roman 
engineers, whose scientific attainments would inspire confidence 
in all who might be cognizant of them. The enormous key-stone, 
in fact, was in not the slightest danger of felling, it being traversed, 
as were all the adjacent blocks, by very thick iron bars, which 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 189 

At a spot about a hundred metres to the west of the Butte Saint- 
Antoine the Romans had pierced the walls with another gate, which, 
at a late period of its existence, was known locally by the curious 
denomination of the Porte Patidere. All that remains of this 
ancient entrance is a triangular-shaped fragment measuring about one 
metre at the base and one and a half in height This remnant con- 
tributes to the formation of a slope of moderate height ostensibly 
keeping up a small private garden separated from the station premises 
by a railing. The reason why so insignificant a vestige has alone 
survived is very easily explained. The gate, which was a perfect 
copy of the famous Porte des Gaules, although on a smaller scale, was 
simply pulled down to make room for an extension of the railway 
station platform. M. Aubenas stigmatises the line traced by the 
company at this point as being "too inflexible," and he further 
regretfully alludes to the fact that no sketch was drawn of the 
ancient monument by the railway constructors at the time of its 
demolition.^ This instance of want of veneration for antiquity is the 
less diflScult to comprehend when an additional example is cited. M. 
Aubenas states that in the course of the removal of a portion of the 
western citadel in 1861, for the purpose of continuing the line of 
railway connecting Toulon with Nice, four most valuable inscriptions 
were discovered.* A dispute arose between the local authorities and 
the railway " administration " with regard to the possession of these 
ancient monuments. The question was submitted to the competent 
authorities. While the matter was still pending, a master-builder, 
impatient at the delay thus caused, settled the affair then and there 
by the summary process of breaking the litigious stones in pieces 
and utilising them for the works. Fortunately, the evil results that 
formed a sequel to this novel way of solving an archaeological 
problem were not so pronounced as they might have been, as M. 
Alexandre, a distinguished member of the Institut, had previously 
copied the inscriptions. " An old inhabitant of the quarter," living 
in M. Petit's time, furnished that archaeologist with a plan of the 

What at a first superficial glance appears to be a semicircular 
structure seems, to all intents and purposes, to prop up the western 
side of the Place Agricola. At the central point of this demi-lune, 
which is fifty metres in diameter, is to be seen all that remains of the 

> Histoire de Frijus^ p. 382. 

* It would appear that two of the four ancient mscriptions deliberately 
destroyed by the master-builder have given rise to more discussion among the 
learned than any of the thirty-six eptgraphical documents discovered at Fr^jus. 

190 Tht Gentiemafis Magaziiu. 

"Gallic Gate." This gate was defended by two lony, poaderoos 
towers,' ten metres in diameter, placed at the two horns of the demi- 
lune. This (^reat entrance appears as if it had been divided into 
three parts, a central and two lateral openings, the middle ooe 
(and by far the broader) for chariots and horse tiafSc generally, the 
two side ones for foot passengers only. Vestiges of the two pairs of 
pillars forming the lateral openings are clearly perceptible, their 
bases being fonned of solid blocks of freestone. One side is 
blocked up by masonry, evidently anciently placed, to a he^ht of a 
few feet. This would encourage the belief that the side doors were 
approached from without by flights of steps. 

It is the use to be ascribed to the central part that has given rise 
to the most discussion. M. Texier favours the belief that it formed 
the main entrance, flanked by two smaller ones ; but Aubenas declines 
to accept this theory. As the Gallic Gate was constructed at the side of 
an elevated plateau, ingress could only have been practicable by means 
of a steep ascent. M. Aubenas, however, avers that it was impossible 
for this central issue to have been utilised by vehicles, as a foundatiori 
of volcanic rock extended underground from the north-east angle of 
the place to within twenty metres of the gate, thus rendering access an 
impossibility for wheeled traffic. The question in this case is whether 
Aubenas is correct in his measurement. From personal examination 
we consider that it is possible that the mass of volcanic rock did not 
extend to a distance that would have brought its prolongation in 
front of the Porte des Gaules (but separated therefrom by the twenty 
metres ascribed). This obstacle, consequently, might have been 
avoided. But Aubenas emits a second objection. He implies that 
approach to the central entrance by chariots was rendered impractic- 
able by the fact of a wall having been built in Roman times exactly 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 191 

gate entrance in the centre. Again, while the two towers originally 
placed at the extremities of the demi-lune would tend to prove that 
the hemicycle was esteemed by its defenders to be a position of ex- 
ceptional strategical value, it may also have been considered unsafe to 
render this part too exposed by the piercing of any aperture, beyond 
the adaptation of the lateral entrances to the use of foot passengers. 
The close proximity of the Porte Paticiere, which was intended for 
every species of traffic, confirms this theory. It was separated from 
the Porte des Gaules by a distance of only 200 metres. 

Forum Julii depended for its water supply upon the Siagnole. 
The Siagnole (in Provencal, NHssoun^ meaning " the source ") is a 
plural term denoting two springs. The latter were of considerable 
volume, and, together with other less abundant streamlets, took their 
rise at the foot of the hill crowned by the village of Mons. The 
Siagnole flowed into the bed of a larger torrent called the Fil, which 
is dry during the greater part of the year. From its rise this double 
spring was placed in direct communication with the Gallo-Roman 
fortress by means of an aqueduct 44 kilometres in length. This 
artificial channel is incontestably the most considerable of all the 
works undertaken by the Romans on the Gallic coast. 

It is not until Roquetaillade is reached, a locality situated at a 
distance of two kilometres from iht prise d'eau of the Roman aqueduct, 
that the latter presents any marked features of engineering skill. It 
is worthy of note that the greater part of the aqueduct connecting 
Roquetaillade with Hautes-Cotes, a distance of seven kilometres, was 
in a sufficient state of preservation to be utilised when the new canal 
de dirivation was constructed in 1872. As far as Hautes-Cotes the 
great work can be traced uninterruptedly, either continuing its course 
subterraneously or following the sinuosities of the ground; but 
between the latter-named place and the Ouros district it only makes 
itself apparent at long intervals. 

No monumental structure meets the eye until we reach the Arcs 
Bonhomme, a curious edifice constructed in accordance with some 
hydraulic law, the nature of which is not explained. We are now 
within sixteen kilometres of Fr^jus, and it is necessary to push our way 
through the centre of the Est^rel. On attaining the huge eruptive 
massif ^t are enabled to gain an idea of the great natural obstacles 
that the Roman engineers had to overcome. Lofty and rugged hills 
with almost perpendicular sides had to be tunnelled, either at their 
base or towards their summit, or when such an operation was not 
possible, it was necessary for the " canal " to make the circuit of the 
elevated parts. Torrents, valleys, gorges, and ravines had to be 
bridged ; subterranean ways ranging from twenty to fifty metres in 

192 The GentUmatis Magaeitu. 

length, according to the necessities of the situation, constructed, while 
breast walls had to be built as the colossal structure forced its way 
to its destination, overcoming every conceivable impediment in the 
Uma of forest lands, to the intricacies of which were superadded an 
almost inextricable medley of rocks, huge boulders, stunted trees, 
and every conceivable form of undergrowth. The greatest curiosity 
of this stupendous example of standardisation work is the double 
aqueduct known as the Arcs S^n^uier. The Arcs du Gaigalon, 
situated at a distance of nearly five kilometres from Fr^jus, originally 
consisted of a series of fourteen arches. Six only surrive. This 
structure was built of materials found on the spot, a reddish-hued 
porphyry. The same may be said of the Arcs Bouteilli^. After 
passing on our route a five-arched bridge known as the Arcs Bonnet, 
we approach the land appertaining to the Cb&teau Aur^lierL Within 
the grounds of this beautifully situated mansion a fine group also 
composed of five arches is in an excellent state of preservation. 

The part of the aqueduct upon which we are now about to fix 
our attention is especially deserving of the most rigorous examination, 
insomuch as it affords an instance of a method of building unique in 
its character, as applied to works of this nature. In boldness and 
originality of design, as well as in execution, the plan here carried 
out by the Roman engineers is unparalleled. Each side of the real 
Porta Romana was Banked by a tower. On attaining this point in 
the construction of the aqueduct it was found that, in order to 
convey the water to the part where the town reservoirs were situated, 
it would be necessary to join the cuvette to the summit of the 
rampart, and so cause the stream to flow along the top of the walls to 
the desired terminus, distant one kilometre. It being no l<xiger 
possible to prosecute the works in a straight line, a sharp turn to the 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 193 

construction. Elegant and slender, it rears its lofty head. It measures 
twelve metres from the ground to the vault Judging by the part that 
is not covered with ivy, it seems to have but little deteriorated since 
the days when it was transversely established within the rotundity of 
the tower. It was designed slightly at a slant, in order to render the 
angle less acute that was to contribute to the passage of the water. 
Still clinging to the graceful arch is a large mass of the rampart, 
preserved at its full height. 

Of the various parts of the iherma that have been preserved, 
mention may first be made of the " great hall " or swimming bath. 
This, according to Bernard de Montfaucon,^ was the bath open to 
the general public. M. de Peiresc ' has designated it the balneum, 
M. Texier terms it the labrum. Finally, Aubenas confers upon this 
principal hall the title of the frigidarium^ comprising, as it did, 
within its limits the piscina natalis. The dimensions between the 
four walls in length and breadth were twenty-three metres seventy- 
five centimetres, and nine metres twenty-five centimetres, respectively. 
Two flights of steps placed at the two extremities of the parallelo- 
gram led down to the bath itself from the promenoir? A lofty and 
deep recess, termed by all our authorities the "great niche," was 
formed in the centre of the side facing the principal entrance. This 
was the schola. It was intended for the accommodation of those who 
attended the bath as mere spectators. Situated immediately at the 
back of this large bathing hall are the striking remains of an edifice 
which, in the strangeness of the peculiarities characterising what is 
preserved of it, and in the richness of the deep brown hues that lapse 
of time and the sun of Provence have conferred upon it, presents to 
the eye what may be termed a " wealth of ruin." Two sides only of 
this roofless building still exist. On the left is a niche-shaped 
cavity. On this same side are two smaller niches, and on the wall 
facing us four more. As late as 1803 even local savants had been 
mystified with regard to the original purpose of this edifice. Abb^ 
Girardin had pronounced this rotunda to be the remnant of a temple, 
grounding his belief chiefly on the niches, which he considered to 
have been intended for the reception of the effigies of the local 
pagan divinities. This idea had become generally accepted. M. de 
Villeneuve-Bargemont, in the course of his excavations, discovered 

' 1757. — Supplement, vol. iii. 

• 1630. — Peiresc's portfolios are preserved in the Cabinet des Manuscrits de 
la Biblioth^ue Nationale, Paris. 

* The bath itself has been filled up with earth to the level of the promenoir^ 
of which the two greater sides can still be distinguished, while three enormous 
inllars have been built upon the raised sur&ce for the purpose of supporting the 
modem roof. 

194 T^ GentUma^s Magajdiu. 

the true nature or the structure.' It had been a combination of hot, 
tepid, cold, and vapour baths. After penetrating to a depth oT about 
one metre, a circular cavity was laid bare, the bottom of which was 
still coated with a layer of beton. Three circular steps led down to 
the interior. This central bath communicated with three smaller 
receptacles. The niches were intended to hold the ointments and 
other necessities that were applied at the completion of the ablutions, 
as well as the utensils used for burning perfiimes or other purposes. 
The rotunda was crowned with a conical roof perforated at the 
summit. Both M. Texiei and M. Aubenas draw an erroneous com- 
parison between this rotunda and what they both tenn the "spberis- 
terium " discovered in the public baths at Pompeii This inaccuracy 
but serves to confer a still more unique character upon the Fr£jus 
edifice. In fact, with regard to the number of sections into which 
the ancient tfurma of Forum Julii are still divided by the state 
of preservation of their walls, as well as by the uses ascribed to each 
subdivision, the Ferine de Villeneuve may be said to be amalgamated 
with the most perfect specimen of an ancient Roman establishment 
of this kind surviving in the whole of what was once Gaul. 

Allusion has been briefly made to the most salient parts still 
extant of the therma. Suffice it to say in conclusion that, amongst 
other interesting remnants, six more halls still remain in a greater 
or less degree of preservation. With regard to their original 
destination, authorities agree to differ. One, according to Peiresc, 
was the tesseliatum. In the opinion of Montfaucon, it waa the 
frigidarium. M. Aubenas considers that it was the spoliatorittm. 
M. Texier believed that this room and the two adjoining it were 
" private baths." The opinion of M. Aubenas is probably the 
correct one. In this case, the following room would have been the 



THE letters which will be found below are printed for the sake 
of the sidelight which they throw on some of the doings of 
our forefathers in the eighteenth century. The lady who wrote 
them was a sister of Henry Hulton, the chief British Commissioner 
of Customs during the years that immediately preceded the 
American War of Independence. A selection from a graphic 
correspondence which she carried on with the same relative to 
whom these letters are addressed, while residing with her brother at 
Boston during that eventful period, has been accepted by the 
" North American Review," and will shortly appear in the pages of 
that journal The letters which form the matter of the present 
article start from an earlier period in Miss Hulton's life, and 
conclude with a description of her brother's arrival in America, 
where she soon afterwards joined him. Her account of her brother's 
connection with the special Commission appointed to settle the 
contractors' accounts towards the end of the Seven Years' War 
seems specially interesting, as suggesting a curious parallel in several 
points to the proceedings that were investigated by the recent 
Commission of Inquiry into the war lately ended. The writer's 
description of English society at Boston and London will also, we 
hope, seem worth the printing. The picture with which the corre- 
spondence closes is a singularly quaint one, presenting as it does the 
twofold spectacle of Great Britain's representatives attempting to 
dance themselves into the favour of the aggrieved American 
Colonies, and of America as the last place to go to in search of a 
rich wife. 

It has been thought best to leave the letters to speak for them- 
selves, with the aid of a few notes to explain such points as seem to 
need explanation. 

"Westminster, Dec. lO, 1763. 

"... I intended writing to you as soon as I knew where our 
situation in London would be ; but we are not yet fixed ; my 

196 The Gentlemaiis Magazine. 

Brother has been looking out some time for more convenient 
lodgings. We are here 3 miles Trom the Custom House, his 
employment is a new establishment' hy Mr. Grenville, and the 
business is to examine and give instructions to the officers of His 
Majesty's Customs in the plantations, and no one can be appointed 
without a certificate fiom my Brother j theie are numbers now 
waiting to receive instructions from him, and he has fiist to learn by 
consulting Acts of Parliament, and then he is to form a plan for 
conducting the Business, which has not before been under any 
r^ulations. It is veiy extensive, being not only appointing new 
officers, but an inspection over all the officers abroad, in order that 
they do their duty, and the prevention of frauds. Mr. Grenville 
appears to have it much at heart, and hopes thereby to find a great 
increase in the Re\-enue. My Brother is dependent on none but 
Him and the Commissioner of y" Customs, both whom be has 
immediate communication with. The salary fixed is ^^500 ^ 
ann. and y fees supposed will be above £200. The task they have 
set him seems to be, a^er combating with y* knaves in G.,* to find 
em out in America and y* West Indies. I am concerned it is a 
place that requires so much attention and care, for the constant 
application and perplexing difficulties he has been subject to above 
two years past has I fear injured his health, and relaxation and 
exercise would be best for him. He intends going to Bath about 
Xtmas as he's advised. 

"It is surprising hovr he has got through such arduous circum- 
stances j a kind providence has supported and protected him, else 
he must have been crushed to pieces when contending with a host 
of wicked malicious and powerful! enemies. Every man in Germany 
from the Duke ' to the lowest was his foe. He could lay open such 

An Eighteenth-century Lady and her Impressions. 197 

Treasury, and their Lordships immediately appointed the Commis- 
sion of Inquiry, investing the Commissioners with a power greater 
than the Secretary of State has here. This struck terror and gave 
a check to the iniquitous practices which, if carried on, and the war 
continued a few years longer, must have exhausted the Treasure of 
Britain, and proved its ruin, even though we had still been success- 
ful in arms. It is strange there was not a man in Germany that 
would make a stand against the general corruption. There was 
some few of honest hearts, but intimidated by power and canied by 
the stream, not one man to be found in whom skill, honesty, spirit, 
and ability were united. Nor were there, they say, any men that 
would have undertaken and gone thro what Mr. Cuthbert and my 
Brother did, nor would they again, I believe, upon any considera- 
tion whatever. Mr. Cuthbert is a fine old gentleman, but I doubt 
his heart is broke by these German affairs. My Brother could have 
got j;^5o,ooo in six months' time after he went over, with much less 
trouble than it cost him not to do it, tho it must have been on terms 
too hard for him to submit to. 

"... Methinks 'tis a strange world I am got into. I can't stir 
out but I must either be jolted in a hackney coach, or have a German 
valet attending me that can scarce speak a word of English. Indeed, 
I walk in the park sometimes, when the weather is good, and I've 
company, and yesterday I presumed to venture out by myself to call 
upon a young lady whom I had been to see oftener than once with 
my Brother ; but it's a shame to say I lost myself, and could neither 
find the way there nor home again, tho at length I arrived safe back 
to my great joy. 

"It is expected the Court will be very gay soon when the 
Hereditary Prince * arrives. They say the Princess Augusta is in 
very poor spirits on the prospect of her change of circumstances, 
and that the Hereditary Prince has not a great deal of zeal, having, 
its said, another attachment This alliance can be no great 
advantage to England, which, however, is very generous in its 
Dowry * to the Princess. 

" Yesterday Mr. Wilkes' trial with the Secretary of State,' at the 
Court of Common Pleas, was decided in favour of Wilkes, and 
j;^i,ooo damages allowed him. Lord Halifax and Mr. Wilkes both 
live in the next street to us, that is Georges Street Wilkes' house 
was illuminated last night, and the mob went with musick and 
played before his Door, shouting for Wilkes ; then they went to Lord 

' Of Brunswick ; married Princess Augusta, eldest sister of George III. 
* Parliament voted ;^8o,ooo. ' The Earl of Halifiu. 

198 The Geniieman's Magazine. 

H.'s doing the same and cursing Lord H. To-moirow Wlkes is to 
be brought before the House of Lords to answer to y* accnsation of 
writing a libel, and its expected he must stand in the Pillory. I hope 
he will recover of the wound he received in the duel for Mr. Martin's 
sake, a gentleman my Brotbo- is more obliged to than any man in 
the world." ' 

■■ Bath, Jan. 4th, 1764. 

" . . . I wish you and Mr. L.* would take a journey to Bath now, 
I think drinking the waters would do you both good ; however, I 
submit my judgment to those of better skill, and own my advice is 
not quite free from selfish motives, tho I don't expect a fee for it 

"... I think this a more agreeable place than London to 
dissipate time and money in, when in a short space of time you see 
all the world, and every genteel amusement in a small compass, tho 
I think the continued sameness & repetition must render it insipid after 
a while, even to those who have the highest relish for it Bath, they 
say, never was fuller of company than at this time, and among the 
thousands of faces I have seen here, I've not met one that I knew 
before I came, except Lady Cunliffe. My Brother meets acquaintance 
everywhere ; one half of the strangers, I believe, are West Indians. 
I have been at every Ball since I came except one ; last night the 
company was very genteelly dressed, the richest silks are wore. I 
heard before I came that there was no appearing in the Rooms 
without a hoop, so forsooth I must have a negligee hoop, and a new 
negligee * of figured satten to wear with it, but I have not worn my 
hoops yet, for most ladies are without, excepting those who wear 
long hoops and dance minuets, they wear small Fly caps* and white 
or black lace RuSs and necklaces. Its very well to have one's 

An Eighteenth-century Lady and her Impressions. 199 

guinea Loo. Its shocking to see children not above 12 ]rears of age 
initiated in the art of Gaming, a fine school this indeed. 

" It is remarkable they say when the affiiir happened between Mr. 
Martin and Wilkes, a sister to each of them being at Bath, they 
communicated to each other the advices they had on that affair, an 
acquaintance commencing upon it, and they became afterwards the 
best friends in the world and inseparable companions. 

" The week before I left London I spent an Evening at Mrs. 
Rogers^ and was much pleased with my visit Mrs. R. was exceed- 
ing obliging and friendly. She enquired after you and your family. 

"... When I wrote you last I was not determined on the journey 
here, and it was uncertain where I should be, as we intended leaving 
our Lodgings, which was a reason for mentioning Letters being sent 
under cover to my Brother at the C. H. [Custom House] as well as 
to let you know a frank in that case would be unnecessary, not indeed 
that I should think paying postage anything. 

"... Wishing you y« Compliments of the Season. 

" Y' affect. ¥t\ 

"A. H." 

« London, Jan. 24, 1764. 
"... We have now changed the scene from the gay to the busy 
world again. The Princess Amelia * came to Bath to be out of the 
way at the time of the P. of Brunswick's wedding and to avoid the 
ceremonies of the Court on that occasion. She is, or is supposed to 
be, out of health, was quite retired, and never appeared in the 
publick Rooms whilst we were at Bath. . . . Everybody here is full 
of the disasters and sufferings they or others have undergone in going 
to Court, the Play, or opera, since the P. of B. came to England. A 
lady related to my brother the scene of distress she passed through 
in going to the opera last Saturday night. It was impossible for 
chairs to be carried through the mob ; this lady was soon separated 
from her companions and servants, and being squeezed and knocked 
about in the mob for a considerable time would have given ever so 
much to have got back, but knew not whereabout she was. At 
length she got into the House and found most of the Ladies there in 
the same shattered condition as herself, some with their Caps, 
Handkerchiefs, and Ruffles torn off, a lady with a diamond Earing 
[sic] in one ear and none in the other. A gentleman took up several 
Capuchin cloaks, and the lady I mentioned found a bracelet. At the 

' A cousin of Miss Hulton, and mother of Samuel Rogers, the poet. 
' Second daughter of George II. 

200 The GeniienuiH's MagasiMe. 

Flay a gentleman had both bis arms broke, and another lost hit 
wooden leg. It was with great difficulty the King and Queen got 
through the Rooms to chapel last Sunday, and many ladies, they say, 
came crying to Court, meeting the same treatment as those at the 


"A. H." 
■■ LoDdm, Feb. 33, 1764. 
*'■ . . Yesterdaymoming we were at Mr. Rogers' in C.H. Square,' 
when a good deal of company met by appointment to see the famous 
conjuror Jonas,' a German Jew, who peifomis surprimig thit^ by 
dexterity of hand. He had been several times with the Kit^, which 
perhaps has brought it so much in fashion to see him. He is the 
general topick of conversation. Besides the many wonderful tricks 
he does, he will play a game at Whist 30 guineas to a shilling and 
gjve the opposite parties 9 of the game and [ ?] honours. He can 
conjure with cards he pleases into his own hand, tho another person 
deals em, and will change hands with any of the party. He will 
carry off a great deal of mon^. He gets, they say, 10 guineas a day 
and must be engaged a fortnight before, being so much called for. 
" Yrs. etc., 

"Ann Hultoh." 
■' Wilkston, Sept. 4, 1767. 
"... I have many things to tell you, and some very interesting 
events I must communicate to my friend. 

"Ireceivedaletterfrom my brother,' date Aug. 39th; that morning 
about 5 o'clock my sister \t.e. sister-in-law] was happily delivered of 
a fine boy. ... A few hours after this stranger arrived in this worid 
my brother received a summons from the Treasury to prepare for 

An EighUentk-century Lady and het Impressions. 201 

Gmce the D. of G.^ to be the first in the Commission was a mark of 

great oonfidence ; had he declined accepting this offer he must have 

remained at home on his bare salary, and should never have been 

taken notice of again by the Treasury. But he must go immediately 

as soon as the Commission^ has passed the Great Seal ; it will be a 

great embarrassment to him. He cannot possibly remove his fieunily 

andeffects. Therefore he will endeavour to get leave to stay till spring, 

tiiough the Treasury are bent on a speedy establishment of the 


^Now you must know that my brother and sister, it seemsi are 

desirous for me to accompany them. He says I may be sure it 

would make them very hi^y, and that he shall be in such a 

situation as to give me every advantage that the place and society 

can yeild \sic\^ and for my comfort we shaU not be exposed to such 

a comipCion of manners, as in London, for the Presbyterians have 

the majority at Boston. 

" Yrs., 

" A. H.** 

'London, Dec. 17. 

"... To^y we have the pleasure to receive two letters from my 
brother of the 5th and 15th Nov., giving an account of his voyage 
and safe arrival at Boston, a pretty good voyage of six weeks. He 
was sick half the time ; as for J. Hincks he never was ill, but eat and 
drank all the way. Our next attention is to what reception the 
Commissioners met with . . . Many people think they will meet 
with difficulties, having turbulent folks to deal with. My brother is 
pretty well known there and in the West Indies by his late employ- 
ment, and we hope from what we have heard that they are rather 
prejudiced in his favor, though his present commission will not help 
to recommend. He says they happened unluckily to arrive on the 
most riotous day in the year, the 5th Nov. He believes the mob 
carried twenty Devils, Popes, and Pretenders through the streets, 
with labels on their breasts. Liberty and Property and no Com- 
missioners. He laughed at 'em with the rest. 

"Yr.aff. friend, 

" A. H." 
« London, Feb. 15, 1768. 

*' . . . My sister [sister-in-law] and I are as happy as we can be in 
our absence from my brother, and as busy as we can be in preparing 
to go to him. We shall embark, I believe, sooner than we thought 
of, for there is but one vessel appointed fit for us to sail in ; its 

* Duke of Grafton, First Lord of the Treasury. 
VOL. ccxcvii. NO. 20S4. ^ 

203 The GentlematCs Magtutne. 

called the Boscawett, Ciptain Jacobson. The Merchants are so 
obliging as to give my sister the choice of her company in the cabbin, 
there being many persons desirous to go in the same ship. The 
company fixed on are the Collector of Bahama and his lady and 
young child, who have made the voyage before and will know how 
to bear the squalling of brats. . . . My little nephew was inoculated 
in the height of the fashion in the cool way.^ My sister, I bdieve, 
would never inoculate one so young again. ... It was indeed very 
providential J. H. [J. Hincks] not goit^ to Florida. . , . The Com- 
missioners have appointed him Clerk of the Minnets [sk\ which they 
say is the best place in the disposal of the Board. The Com- 
missioners began an Assembly at Boston in order to wear off the 
prejudice of the people and to cultivate their acquaintance. There 
were about loo at the first opening of it, and my brother had the 
honour of dancing the first minnuet. J. H. made no smi^ figure at 
it, and is very easy and happy with tfaero all, but the misfortune is 
there are no fortunes there." 


' A new mtUiod of inoculatiDa from small-poi before the days of v. 
It pmcribed eierdse in the cold air and the drinking of cold watei. Instead of 
the older pUn of CMi&ning the patieDt to hi* bed wfaeo dw etnptive ESfer of &la 
inoculated imaU'pox had developed. 



I AM an exile in a foreign land, 
Alone, with the^ memory of the past 
In the still evening I lie upon the edge of the cliff 
And look out over the sea, 
That mysterious, incomprehensible expanse, 

To which there seems no end. 
This barren rock is my outermost prison wall 
The sea is my jailor, an inscrutable and stem guardian 

That keeps ceaseless vigil. 
My fetters, which are stronger than iron, can never be cast off; 
They are bound about my souL 
The first man was not more lonely than am I. 
In this deep solitude there \& nothing to disturb the current of my 

My imagination has free play : 
My thoughts are away over the sea. 
I leave the hateful land far behind 
And speed swiftly away over leagues and leagues of sea 
Over a desolate waste of water. 
Where no living thing is to be seen. 

I pass by the ships. 
Some of them are buffeted by fierce winds 

And in danger of being lost. 
Some of them go merrily, under full sail, 

Towards the far-off haven. 
Some of them plough resistlessly through the water, 

Impatient of all delays. 
These ships are full of human beings. 
Amongst whom are, perchance, my friends. 

All are glad, and talk gaily with each other. 
They pass the time with music, and singing, and laughter 
Friend sits beside friend, 
Talking of home and of those who will presently greet them 

304 "^^ GetUleman's Magaziiu. 

Tbej «ie happy, 

Looking forward to the day when their ship 

Will safely bring them into port 

And my heart is as heavy aa lead. 

The sea is appalling. 
It is well nigh iiDpossibte to comprehrad the extent of it ; 
I am as nothing in conywhson with it. 
This rest sepulchre will soon receive my body 
Into its silent depths. 
How easily will it contain me ! 
How soon will the little nf^lea that I shall make io it ; 

Die away ! 
Now I enter the world's great highway, 
Where ships of every nationality come and ga 

There are monstrous shapes of iron 
That plough deep furrows and leave long trails of nncAe behind 

There are narrow hulls 
That cleave the waters with race-horse speed. 
Stately ships of merchandise pass on their way, 
With bellying sail. 

At last the land ! 
That little cloud low down on the horizon is my native land. 
In fancy I approach my dear native land from the sea. 
More quickly than the swiftest ship 

I reach the land of my binb. 
And DOW I gaze upon fiimiliar scenes. 

Here is a great harbour full of ships, 
Some swinging with the tide, at anchor, 

The Exile. 205 

EYerywhere is movement and confusion ; 

Ceaseless noises re-echo on all sides. 

The tramp of many feet mingles with the rumbling of wheds, 

The hoarse cries of men and the hiss of escaping steam. 

Friends take leave of friends, 

Standing at the dosed doors and wishing them God speed. 

Friends greet friends but newly come from a distance. 

I travel more quickly than the swiftest train over the hmd of my 

1 see peaceful fields where cattle graze, 

The dividing hedge, the copse, the white road winding round the hilL 
I see fields where the golden harvest lies waiting to be gathered in. 
Here is a village nestling in the hollow, 
In the midst of which rises the church tower, ivy-covered. 
Now the rolling wind-swept downs bid me welcome as I pass by. 
They too are old friends, I know 
Each chalk basin hollowed in their sides. 
The soft winds of my native land 
Whisper their secrets to me as they come o'er the hills. 

They caress me, and pass by. 

Nothing is changed ; it seems but yesterday 
I passed this way. Yet I know 

The varying seasons have endured. 
I hasten on, for the goal is already in sight. 
In the distance the smoke of a great city drifts slowly away, 
And a hundred sudden spires pierce the sky. 

The broad highways greet me as I approach. 
At first are pleasant houses with trim gaurdens, standing alone ; 

Afterwards many houses in rows ; 
Blocks of tall unsightly houses with mean courts and ]rards ; 
Bridges ; a network of lines ; tall posts ; distant lights ; 
Swiftly moving shapes ; towers ; chimneys and housetops. 
And a golden cross shining high over all. 
The dty welcomes me with the sound of its hurrying feet. 
The roar of its wheels and the murmur of its strifie. 
I feel the beating of its mighty heart 
It was my home. 
All these things were mine to share and to enjoy, by inheritance and 

But they are mine no k>nger. 
On swift wings my fiuicy bears me to the goal. 

2o6 Th4 Gent^man's Magazine. 

Ooce more I pass through the familiar itrectt ; 

Once more I pause upon the weU-remembered thiethold. 

Often, in dajrs gone by, my steps have led me hither, but now 

This way I shall never pass again, 

These portals I may never more enter. 

There is a window in the bouse that looks out over waving treetops 

Towards the setting sun. 
I know that at this hour, by this window, someone is seated 

I am sure that she is thinking of me. 




"Hbrne the Hunter." 

THE revival, at Hh Majesty^s, of The Merry Wives of Windsor. 
with Mr. Tree as Falstaff and Miss Ellen Terry as Mistress 
Page, though for a week only, inspired so much interest Uiat I feel 
disposed to communicate a little mformation concerning the play, or 
a matter connected with it, which is not generally possessed or 
accessible. Everyone knows, of course, the crowning punishment 
reserved by the merry but offended matrons for the &tand libertine 
knight who has wooed them both to dishonour at the same time and 
in the same terms — that of luring him beneath " Heme's oak " in 
order to fright him, and let the mock furies 

Pinch him for his villainy. 

The legend concerning Heme the hunter, as told by Mistress 
Page, is as follows : — 

There is an old tale goes, that Heme the hunter, 

Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest, 

Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight, 

Walk round about an oak, with great lagg'd horns ; 

And there he blasts the tree, and takes * the cattle ; 

And makes milch-kine yiekl blood, and shakes a chain 

In a most hideous and dreadful manner : 

You have heard of such a spirit ; and weU you know 

The superstitious idle-headed eld ' 

Receiv'd, and did deliver to our age, 

This tale of Heme the hunter for a truth. 

Merry Wives of Windsor, Act IV. Sc 4. 

This seems sufficiently explicit. Curiously, however, no such 
legend of Heme the hunter seems to exist, and it is open to doubt 
whether before the time of Shakespeare any mention of such a 
character had been made. 

No Legend of Herne the Hunter existing. 

I AM, of course, aware that until August 31, 1863, when it was 
blown down — having attained the reputed age of 650 years — a 
tree known as Heme's oak existed in Windsor forest, and was sup- 
posed by some, though the point was fiercely contested, to be that 
to which Mistress Page refers. (See C. Knight's Local Illustrations to 
' The Merry Wives of Windsor^ Gilpin's " Remarks on Forest Scaiery," 

* Bewitches. ' Olden time. 

2o8 The GentlemoM's MagastMe. 

G€ntbmatfs Magatiiu, April, 1841, and Janiuiy to April, 1868 ; 
Jesse's "Gleanings," second series, and Perry's T>eaHse en tfu 
Jdentfty of Hem^s Oak, 1867.) Queen Victoria on September la, 
1 863, plaiited another mk to replace that which had fallen ; and thU, 
I boieve, perpetuates to this day the name of Heme. None the less, 
there seems some reason to regard the name of " Heme the hnnter " 
as mythical In the quarto of 1602 {An txeellenl, pleasant, and 
toncetUd Comedy of Sir John J^fixulst(^ and tkt Mtrry Whts <^ 
Windtsor), whether it be a first sketch of Shakespeare's comedy or a 
work taken from the prompter's copy and spuriously issued, the 
name is di&erenL The character is therein called " Home the 
hunter." In this — which mus^ I think, have been known to 
Shakespeare — Mistress Page says : 

Hcumy deniee. 

Oft bkue you hetrd, tince Home the hunter dyed, 

That women, to ftl&ight Ihrir little childiea, 

Se; tint be wmlkei in sh^ie of ft greu itftCE^ 

Now for thftt Fal*taile bMb bene n decdned 

A* that he darei not ventuie to the home, 

Weele Mod him word to meet vt in the field, 

Dispuied like Home,' with huge bonu ' <ai his bead. 

T^en would I hatie you proeiit there at hand. 
With little bofei diaguiied utd dieited like Fayiiei, 
Foi to afiigfat bt Fabtofie in the wood*. 

Herne the Hunter. 

IN fevour of the view that the name shoald be " Home the hunter " 
not "Heme the hunter" there is just one curious and very 
interesting piece of evidence. Id an nnprinted MS. of the time 
of Henry VIII. in the British Museum (BIS. Bib, Reg. 17 C xvL) 
the nvme of Richard Home, yeoman, appears among those of the 
" hunters " who, having been examined, nave confessed to hunting in 
his Majesty's forests. This incident may well have put Shakespeare or 
his predecessor on the track of the name. At any rate, the co- 
incidence seem remarkable. If my reader thinks this trifling, I am 



September 1904. 


By Katharine Sylvester. 

GRANDMAMA ETTINGHAUSEN was in the big chair by the 
window overlooking the sunny strip of garden, her basket of 
sewing by her side. Opposite her sat Fanny, her granddaughter, occu- 
pied in shredding beans into a blue china bowL Grandmama chatted 
away as she sewed, in the cheery fashion that was her wont, bursting 
every now and again into snatches of old-fashioned song — this last 
perhaps to cover the silences, for Fanny was unresponsive to-day. 
Indeed, an acute observer might have detected a forcing of the note 
in the old lady's cheerfulness ; and the same observer, peeping over 
her granddaughter's shoulder, would have seen something resembb'ng 
teardrops fall among the shredded beans into the bowl on her knees. 
At length there came a pause in the flow of grandmama's prattle, 
and into it broke suddenly a sound like a checked sob. Tlie old 
lady dropped her work, and gazed over her spectacles at the drooping 
figure opposite. " Come here, Fanny," she said, tenderly imperative. 
The girl rose and knelt beside her grandmother, hiding her face in 
the folds of the latter's gown. For a few moments pattings and 
smoothings supphed the place of verbal consolation. Then the old 
lady spoke, very quietly, continuing the stroking, 

" This is what must be. Fanny has a loving heart, and parting is 
sorrow. But it is well for you to go, my child. I have done what I 
can through the years, that my dear daughter's little girl should not 
feel too heavily the loss of &ther and mother. But there are things 

vou ccxcvii. NO. 2085. Q 

210 The G*Htleman's Magwsine, 

I have left undone — the observances of our sacred religion ; I have 
grown sadly lax since your gruid&ther's time, God rest his dear soul I 
It was his pious spirit that breathed into them the breath of lif^ 
and when he died they seemed to die too. What did I want widi 
the forms that were dead to me? But it is proper you should learn 
to be a good little Jewess. The other gnmdmama will tell you all I 
should have remembered." Here tearful murmurings expressed 
Fanny's want of desire for further spiritual equipment Unheeding 
the interruption, the old lady proceeded, but with something d hesi- 
tancy. " And there are Other reasons. Here in this old-world country 
corner who comes to see us, and whom do we go to see ? The 
doctor and his wife, the curate who asks you to write your name in 
Hebrew for his sister's birthday book ; none of our own pe(q)Ie; 
And you have grown to an age when the future must be thought of. 
Now in London, at Grandmama Langenbach's, there will be of^mitu- 
nities, and she is one who will know how to use them. Who 
knows ? in a year or two they may be sending for me to come and 
see my little Fanny stand beneath the canopy, a fair young bridc^ 
beside a brid^room who adores her, and who can give her many 
things ? " Fanny had before this abandoned the recumbent attitude. 
Now she sprang from her seat, and stood feeing her grandmotfier, 
indignant, reproachfiil. "Is it for that you are sending me away from 
you ? To be sent about on approval for the inspection of poniUe 
husbands— to fall in love to order? Granny, I thought you had 
known me better I " 

Gnmdmama gazed tenderly at the little quivering image of insulted 
maidenhood. She put out an arm, and drew her down again to her 
fonner posture. 

" I spoke like a silly, indiscreet old woman who belongs to a 

Fanny the Rebel. 211 

"And was that the last you heard of the gentleman?" asked 
Fanny, in a tone suggestive of pity for the eluded one. 

Grandoiama looked down, and trifled with the sewing in her lap. 
She had meant that her recital should be considered at an end. But 
Fanny's eyes with the question in them were fastened on her face. 

" Well, no." She hesitated, with an embarrassed laugh. " I don't 
know exactly how it came about afterwards ; but you see — well — it 
was your grandfather, Fanny." The girl gave a start, her &ce flushed 

" Grandmama," she murmured, " I always understood that it was 
a love affair between you and grandpapa." 

" And so it was, my Fanny, so it was. Love from the beginning 
until death." And this time there was that in the old lady's look and 
tone that checked further discussion. 

• •.•••••• 

Grandmama Langenbach lived in a square in Bloomsbury, in a 
great house with a back staircase and a Georgian savour for anyone 
endowed with a fine historic ^o/r. It would need periiaps to have 
been an exceptionally fine one ; for the mistress of the house, whose 
mode of thought in most directions suggested her connection with a 
remote period of history, the Babylonian captivity for example, was 
only too much up-to-date in the matter of the fashions, and had re- 
furnished late in life, with expensive ugliness, from a house in Totten- 
ham Court Road. Ljring back among the cushions of her stately 
barouche, she further exemplified in her own person these opposing 
conditions, for, under the Paris bonnet which crowned her large 
bown, impassive face, was the smooth wig she had assumed since 
the time when, an eighteen-years-old bride, her head had been shaved 
in accordance with a custom of her race. Her father had been a sort 
of rabbi in a remote Continental town, and she had been bred in a 
system of complicated religious observance, which she imposed 
relentlessly on her own household. To the unwary it was full of pit- 
fiills, and Fanny, the new arrival, found it all the more trying when 
she discovered that for her grandmother it held no grain of spiritual 
leaven. The latter adhered to it for the same reason that a snail 
adheres to its shell. Her attitude towards Christian society illustrated 
another aspect of snaildom. To her they were as Hittites and 
Jebuzites. They concerned her not ; she was shy of them, while at 
the same time she despised them, grudging almost a cup of tea when 
chance brought a stray one as visitor to her drawing-room. Fanny was 
introduced to her grandmother's state of mind in this matter about a 
week after her arrival, when she showed the latter an invitation she had 
received from some country friends now living in London. 


212 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

Mrs. Langenbach shrugged her shoulders. 

" I suppose you can go if you want to ; but understand, I do not 
approve of Christian visiting. What do we want with them ? They 
come among us to pry and sneer and get out of us what they can 
And then, for young girls, it is playing with edged tools — at best a 
waste of time." 

" A waste of time ? " repeated Fann)', wondering. The other 
grandmother had rather kotowed to the Gentile than otherwise. Re- 
cognising her race's limitations, her unconscious leaning was towards 
amalgamation. Here was an echo of Shylock, an answering cry to 
the Hep^ hep of the persecutor. 

"Yes, a waste of time," snapped Mrs. Langenbach. "Pure 
waste ; you can't marry one of them. Anyhow, if you do go to these 
people — as I dare say you will, for all I say — do not put on your new 
dress. The one you brought with you from the country will 
do very well. I cannot conceive what Mrs. Ettinghausen can have 
been thinking of," she muttered, rising to go upstairs and dress 
for her drive. Fanny remained a few moments standing where 
she was, vexed and flushing. She had already realised that it was 
not to satisfy yearnings of grandmotherly affection that she had been 
withdrawn from the care of the loving arms that had held her since 
infancy. She was regarded, she knew, in the light of a task whose 
fulfilment would occur when a suitable match had been found for 
her. Her disgust notwithstanding, she could not but admire the 
sense of duty that expressed itself so energetically in her behalf. 
Mrs. Langenbach accompanied her granddaughter to milliners and 
dressmakers, and superintended all the fittings, pulling, tugging, and 
trying effects of drapery with the passion of a virtuoso, but with as 
little reference to the taste of the chief person concerned as though 
she had been a lay figure. Then, that there might be no disparity 
between the inside and outside of the cup and platter, there were 
so-called finishing lessons, at which grandmama also assisted in person, 
bobbing her head out of time when they made music, and generally 
taking the savour out of things for both teacher and taught Fanny 
took it all very patiently, the frocking and the finishing, the restraints 
of the religious code that denied her the opening of her letters or the 
pleasure of a personal poke at the fire on the Sabbath. She was 
frightened of Mrs. Langenbach, and that was the truth — of her half- 
shut eyes, her inscrutable, sphinx-like smile, her slow, guttural, sting- 
ing speech. The other grandmother would have opened her eyes 
and chuckled a little perhaps, to have seen her mutinous Fanny 
transformed into such submissiveness. She would have wondeied 

Fanny the Rebel. 213 

less could she also have been aware that, in spite of outward seeming, 
Fanny was gathering together all her forces for resistance on the one 
point where Mrs. Langenbach most desired submission. 

The campaign opened in this wise. 

Fanny, coming suddenly one day into the drawing-room, found 
her grandmother and her grandmother's cousin, Mrs. Drucker, a 
widow with a fine house in Bayswater, with their heads close 
together, holding animated talk. They stopped short at sight of her, 
eyeing her in such a manner as to leave no doubt that she herself 
was Uie subject under discussion. She would have withdrawn at 
once, but Mrs. Langenbach beckoned her forward with an unusually 
benign expression. '' Yes, it's about you we're talking. You are to 
dine at cousin Drucker's to-night, and you are to wear your new 
gown." She nodded with a significance that set Fanny's Cace on 
fire. " Go now, and tell Hermine to set out your things," she added 
quickly, her expression changing as she watched her granddaughter. 
Then, in an audible whisper, as the latter turned to cross the length 
of the room, " She's been so badly brought up. Heaven knows if it 
will be settled before he goes to stay with cousin Maria in Birming- 
ham ; and then when he sees Maria's Rosalie " 

Fanny vanished out of hearing, a laugh bubbling up in the midst 
of her wrath. She had grown to hate the name of Rosalie, a paragon 
of all virtues and accomplishments constantly held up to herself for 
admiration and imitation. Would it not be presumptuous to consent 
to be matrimonially served before such an one ? Then, again over- 
whelmed by the tide of her wrath : " It has come at last, then ! I 
am to be arrayed in all my finery and sent out on approval. And if 

I do not suit It's too horrible ! I should like to lace my bodice 

awry, and do my hair upside down." But this possible manoeuvre 
was denied her by the entrance, at a critical stage of the toilet, of 
grandmama, to whose loud-voiced satisfaction with the finished 
result, a sidelong glance at the looking-glass induced Fanny to give 
inward corroboration. 


The type was a foregone conclusion. She had picked him out at 
once fi*om the group of dress-coats standing round Mrs. Drucker's 
drawing-room fire. A quarter of an hour later, during the short 
transit on his arm between drawing-room and dining-room, she was 
occupied in telling over to herself some of the points that made him 
a characteristic specimen. Like most of the eligibles of her grand- 
mother's set, he was " made in Germany," with a fiur beard, firesh-com- 
plexioned, a pince-nez, and, what struck her (incorrectly, as it chanced^ 

214 The Gentleman s Magazine. 

with an unmistakable air of widowerhood. She found hersdf 
wondering, as she took her soup, whether girls or boys preponderated 
in his establishment Then for the first time he turned to her with 
a remark, and the quality of unexpectedness in his voice and 
manner gave her quite a little thrill 

They had reached a point low down in the menu when Fanny 
awoke with a shock to a sense of incongruity between her present 
behaviour and the attitude she had meant to adopt She and her new 
acquaintance, Paul Rosenthal (the name also was typical), had been 
floating down an agreeable stream of talk, oblivious, as flEir as she was 
concerned, of anything but the pleasure of the trip. She had 
difficulty later in recalling exactly the topics on which they had 
engaged, but she had a general impression of sympathy and common 
points of view, and for the first time for many weeks fireedom of 
speech had seemed hers. Her countenance assumed a colour and a 
sparkle which, reflecting themselves in the face of her companion, had 
caused Mrs. Drucker to nod significantly to her vis-h-vis who was in 
the secret. It was that nod which had brought Fanny to a sudden 
standstill With a burning blush, she turned abruptly to her left- 
hand neighbour, a youthful son of the house, and began plying him 
with questions about his work and his amusements. Paul Rosenthal 
looked puzzled. After a short pause he also turned to his neighbour 
on the other side, a lively lady, in whose conversational sallies he 
appeared for the rest of dinner to find an amount of amusement 
that inspired Fanny with a most inconsistent sense of injury. 

After dinner, in the drawing-room, a young matron seated herself 
on an ottoman beside Fanny, into whose unsympathetic ears she 
b^an pouring a stream of servant troubles. But on the appear- 
ance in the doorway of the first black-coated stragglers, she rose with 
some ostentation, casting an arch look at Fanny. Paul Rosenthal 
was crossing the room in her direction, and Fanny, with quickened 
pulse, caught herself hoping he would avail himself of the vacated 
seat Even if his attentions were unwelcome, she explained to her- 
self, thdr withdrawal at this stage would be matter for humiliation. 
Before he had reached her comer, his hostess waylaid him and led 
him across to the piano. He seemed a willing victim, searching 
eagerly among some songs produced. Fanny, on her solitary island 
of ottoman, felt a little revulsion of coldness. She hated to hear 
men sing, her experiences having been hitherto drawn solely firom 
performances at local penny-readings, where heat, redness about 
the gills, and physical exertion quite out of proportion to the 
vocal result, were characteristic features. 

Fanny ike R$beL 215 

O Medj^a qui d'nn aourire 
Encfaatna ma Kbert^ X 

For the second time that evening Fanny thrilled with a little 
shock of surprise. It wasn't a bit like the singing of the curate at 
home. She sat bolt upright, and clenched her hands in involuntary 
defiance of the charm of the voice. But to no purpose. She felt 
herself turn hot and cold, and the tears sprang to her eyes. The 
music seemed charged with a special appeal to herselfl She glanced 
at the singer. He directly faced her, and she saw that his features 
were almost at rest, that he sang as easily as he breathed. Then the 
charm completely overcame her, and she was conscious of nothing 
further till the song had ceased. 

An hour or so later, Fanny came tiptoeing up the staircase of her 
grandmother's house, candle in hand. As she passed the first-floor 
landing a door opened, and Mrs. Langenbach, in night-cap and 
dressing-gown, appeared on the threshold. 

" Well," she questioned sharply, " was it a nice party ? " 

Fanny yielded to a mischievous impulse. She feigned to suppress 
a yawn. 

'' It was like most dinner-parties, I suppose. The flowers were 
beautiful — orchids — and the waiting perfect The man who took me 
in to dinner ? — Some German, I forget the name ; but Arnold Drucker 
was on the other side and explained the two kinds of football to me. 
He's a deUghtful boy ! " 

The door closed with an expressive slam, and Fanny, with a 
wicked little laughs went on her way to her room. But the laugh 
wasn't all on her side ; her grandmother would have rejoiced, doubt- 
less, had she known for how many hours that night her aggravating 
granddaughter lay tossing on her bed while reviewing the incidents 
of the festival she had affected to despise. The enemy had begun 
the attack. He was more formidable than she had anticipated. 
She felt there must be a grand muster of all her forces, a putting forth 
of all her strategic power, if the end were not to be capitulation. 
And capitulation meant the triumph of Grandmama Langenbach. 
All through the night he haunted her, that outwardly commonplace 
German-Jewish man, with the nameless charm of manner and the 
voice that thrilled her — " O Medj^ qui d'un sourire. . . ." The fort- 
night that followed was the strangest in her experience. Almost every 
day there were lunch parties and dinner parties, either at her grand- 
mother's or at one of her grandmother's numerous cousins'. Paul 
Rosenthal was always among the guests, and more often than not 
her allotted partner at table. The business was quite obvious to the 

2i6 The GentkrHan's Magaeiiu. 

most short-sighted observer, even without the nods and becks of 
grandmama and the otheis. As for the leading gentleman in the little 
diama, Fanny could almost have flattered herself into believing that 
bis part was an unprompted one. His attentions, thoagh marked, 
bad all the appearance of spontaneity, his manner never such aa to 
warrant her assumption of the defensive. She allowed herself to 
drift on, aware of pleasant intercourse, not daring to ask herself where 
it would finally land her. Grandmama, on the other hand, wasgrowing 
manifestly impatient She wanted the match to be a fait ec^K^U^ 
so that she might get to work quickly on the trousseau and betrothal 
festivities. She didn't understand this beating about the bush. It 
all went much faster in her young days, she reflected. The late Mr. 
Langenbach and herself had only re<]uired three interviews to be con- 
vinced of theii mutual desirableness. But she hadn't really long to 
wait A day or two before his prearranged visit to the mother of 
the dreaded Rosalie, in Birmingham, he told Fanny, in her grand- 
mother's hearing, with a significance that had on the former the effect 
of a call to arms, that he intended paying his farewell respects to her 
early the next morning. The grandmother beamed all over. His 
own manner held no doubt or tremors. Glancing from one to the 
other, Fanny realised herself to be on the brink of a situation from 
the mere thought of which she had once recoiled in honor. Had 
she been wilfully blind } she asked herself with an inward Uush. 
At any rate, her eyes were open now, and she was free to look about 
or a method of escape. 

" Rachel is a fair cook, but she could never manage such a big 
dinner. Remind me to write to Mrs. Moses to-morrow, Fanny, to 
see what days she can give roe." Going home that night in ha 

Fanny the Rebel. 21 j 

fortnight, and to face the facts of the case in all their native baldness. 
Here was she, an English-bom, English-bred damsel, about to be 
drawn into an engagement with a man who, two weeks ago, was a 
stranger to her, who had been brought into her society with deliberate 
purpose of matrimony. Her own inclination in the matter had 
apparently never occupied the consideration of the other parties con- 
cerned : all that was expected of her was that she should, metaphor- 
ically speaking, open her mouth and shut her eyes, and thank Heaven 
for what followed. Never would she be mated under such conditions, 
whatever the opposition might cost her. 

With the light of morning it came to her as an inspiration that 
her best policy lay in flight. There must be no interview with Paul 
Rosenthal, no parleying with the enemy. He would realise the 
significance of her manoeuvre, and would respect it. Thus the 
matter would be put an end to, and difficult explanations avoided. 
What Grandmama Langenbach's views on the situation might be she 
did not dare picture to herself. On pulling up her window-blind, she 
found that Providence was likely to prove an aider and abettor of her 
scheme. It was a mild morning in October, with a sky that held a 
promise of fair weather. In the country the autumn tints would be 
at their richest. She had resolved to make her newly acquired skill 
at water-colour sketching an excuse for spending the day on Hamp- 
stead Heath. She hurried over her solitary breakfast (it was a merciful 
custom of Mrs. Langenbach's to have her own breakfast served in 
her bedroom), and then rang up the parlour-maid, to whom she 
entrusted a message to her grandmother in explanation of her absence. 
The servant received it with manifest surprise. " There is company 
to luncheon. Miss Fanny ! " Her manner was distinctly expostula- 
tory ; she also was in the secret. Fanny blushed hotly. She mur- 
mured something by way of reply, and, catching up her sketching 
things, she hurried out of the house, the street-door closing behind 
her with a slam that reminded her uncomfortably of Ibsen's Nora. 

An hour later she was on the Heath, at a point where, with an 
effect like a child's dream, London seems abruptly to come to an 
end, and a wide landscape spreads itself at the feet of the spectator. 
She stood still for a few moments, inhaling the air of the Heath, 
whose sweetness added to the sense of exhilaration bom of the morn- 
ing and a consciousness of successful strategy. Then she ran lightly 
down the hillside, in among the blackberry bushes and orange-tinted 
bracken, till she found a suitable place of encampment, a gireen glade 
among oaks and birches. She set to work at once with feverish 
energy, but, try as she would, she could do nothing to her satisfac- 

3i8 The GentlemoK's Magaeins. 

tioD. Her band seemed to have lost iu cunning. She gave it np at 
last, and sat gazing ruefully at the group of tall pines that seemed to 
mock at hei from their height for daring to attempt their poitratts. 
Presently her eyes grew dreamy ; the tall shapes marked so blackly 
■{^nst tile blue ceased to hold meaning for her. She was driftiiig 
on the same current of thought and feeling that had brought hei 
so perilously near the situation from which she was even now making 
her escape. In spite of everything, the last two weeks had been « 
beautiful time, with iu atmosphere of mutual understanding, sympa- 
thetic talk, and, running through all, the charm of a voice that was 
music whetha it sang or spoke. She put up her hands to shut out 
the memory of the bewitching sound. Lowering them, her glance 
felt on the watch on her wrist. It was just one o'clock. He might 
even now be knocking at ber grandmother's door. He would ask 
first for Mrs. Langenbach, and then casually, as he -passed throu^ 
the hall, if Miss Fanny were also in. She pictured his start of sur- 
prise, his change of expression, when he should hear of her absence. 
For the first time she realised how much it would hurt, and that 
the hurt should be of her inflicting ! She pictured also the Ute-H-Uti 
lunch, with Mrs. Langenbach boiling with suppressed wrath — the 
forced remarks, the constraint, the silences. He would make some 
excuse for taking bis leave directly after the meal. She saw him, in 
her imagination, shake the dust off his feet, heard the closing of the 
street-door behind him, and realised with a sudden pang that he 
had passed out of her life for ever. She rose to her feet with a little 
cry. What had she done ? what had she done ? It was Love irtuxn 
she had sent about his buaness. And all for the sake of preserving 
an attitude 1 Little did she care now as to what started the wooing ; 
it was enough that she had been won. Grandmama langenbadt 

Fanny the Rebet. 


The question came fatlering from pale lips. There was a singing in 
her ears, and the dreaded negative reached her through a fog of sound. 
Mrs. Langenbach was alone now, she was told. Mi. Rosenthal had 
stayed on until after four. He had waited foi hei then ; she bad 
not long missed him. A sickening sense of disappointment over- 
whelmed her. She stumbled along the hall, catching sight, as she 
passed the dining-room door, of grandmama, book in hand, beside 
her Sabbath lights, muttering her Hebrew prayers. She hfted her 
bead, and, her lips still moving, shot at Fanny as she passed a look 
that sent the latter flying up the staircase to her own room. The 
shelter reached, she threw off her outdoor clothes, and then sat down 
to enjoy a Ute-^tHe with her own folly. It wasn't a pleasant inter- 
view. Her recent action, she reflected, might be summed up as the 
process known as cutting oS your nose to spite your face. She would 
probably never see Paul Rosenthal again. He would think badly of 
her, strive to put her out of his memory, and to do this he would 
Boon have the help of the golden-haired Rosalie, with her smiles and 
her guitar. Fanny's pain grew and grew, and she had never been 
good at bearing pain. She must struggle her utmost to get rid of it 
now, even at the cost of maiden dignity and self-respect. There was 
DO time to be lost. She believed him to be leaving London the 
following night. She sought out writing materials, and hastily 
scribbled a few Hoes to his address : 

" You have left here a volume of Gounod's songs. I think you 
may want it to take to Binningham with you. Shall I forward it ? 
Or will you come here to-morrow morning to fetch it ? Perhaps the 
latter course would be preferable." 

Allowing herself no time for further reflection or repentance, she 
crept downstairs and fled with her letter to the nearest pillar-box, 
then again, breathless, back to her room. Her next proceeding was 
to ring up the maid and to excuse herself, on the score ofa headache, 
from appearing at the Sabbath evening meal. That settled, she was 
free to abandon herself to an inevitable mood of shame and regret. 
How many times, during the hours that followed, would she, had it 
been possible, have recalled that letter ? She pictured his receiving 
it, his scorn of her as he read, his exclamation of thankfulness that 
he had not asked such an one to be his wife. Then, to add variety 
to her emotion, came the tingling thought of a completely diiferent 
issue. The morning brought no relief to her suspense. Fortunately, 
after her solitary, untasted breakfast, it settled down to rain, which, 
according to her grandmother's code, A'amed with an eye to best 
clothes, was a reason for her absenting herself from service at the 


330 Tk€ GentUmaiis Magaaiu. 

synagogue. She was free to retire to her room for the morning 
there to sit quivering and straining at every sound frun below. A 
knock at the dow sent her heart into her mouth. It proved to be a 
maid with a message to the effect that her grandmother wished to 
speak to her in the boudoir before luncheon-time. She scarcely 
heeded the annomicement. Other emotions had borne her beycmd 
fear of the rod that lay in pickle for her. Then as the morning sped, 
all too quickly, all too slowly, without sound or sign, despair came 
over her. She paced up and down, twisting her hands and tingling 
with her shame. It was nearing one o'clock. If he had meant to come 
he would certainly have come earlier. She must throw Hope over- 
board, and set her face like a flint to meet the grandmotherly ordeal. 
Slowly she opened the door of her room, and came down the stair- 
case^ a poor little, heavy-eyed, drooping figure, whose pathos would 
have wrung the heart of the other far-away grandmother. 

As she reached the ball, a loud knock at the street door sent her 
flying for shelter behind the curtain of an inner hall, where she 
stood awaiting the result with shaking knees and a heart that beat 
double-quick time. It was only a milliner's girl with a belated 
costume. From where she stood Fanny could interpret apolo^es, 
explanations. With a sicker feeling of disappointment than the had 
yet experienced, she turned her face to the wall and broke into sup- 
pressed sobs. 

Along the velvety carpeting of tbe ball came the footsteps of a 
person who had entered at the same time as the dressmaker, but 
Fanny heard nothing. The curtain was lifted, the footsteps ceased. 
There was a light touch on her arm, a whisper in her ear : 
" Pardon, Fraulein Fanny I I have called for tbe music. I believed 
I should find yoo at home this rooming; you could scarcely make 

Fanny the Rebel. 221 

very April of smiles and tears. She held in her hand a letter from 
her granddaughter, in the course of which the writer, with some 
incoherence and many transports, announced the fajcX, of her engage- 
ment, giving some attendant circumstances. When she reached the 
Hampstead Heath episode, the old lady leaned back in her chair and 
laug^ied till she cried. " A chip of the old block, " she murmured, 
wiping her eyes. " To think of the child treating her bridegroom 
just as I did her poor grandfather — may his dear soul rest in peace 1 
And, ach ! how I long for a sight of my little Fanny ! " 

Th€ GtntUmads Maffahu. 


MEDIEVAL Yedo, " The Estuary Gate," has developed ioto 
imperial Tokyo, the hybrid capita] of Western Japan. In 
the fifteenth century Yedo vas a mere fishing village on the aaody 
shore of a shallow lagoon, and a fortress built t^ a warrior prince in 
1456 became the nucleus of the future nwtropolis. The usurpir^ 
Shoguns, recognising the military advantages of Yedo, made it the 
seat of government, while the Mikado, retaining divine honours, but 
only the shadow of sovereign power, remained in seclusion at Kyoto^ 
the Eastern capital, until the bll of the Shogunate in 1&68 restored 
him to authority on his ancestral throne. 

Tokyo covers the vast area of 100 square miles, a dark and 
^roal city, only brightened by the rich foliage of park and grove, 
the avenues of flowering cherry trees, and the florists' gardens which 
nitalise the environs. Miles of black wooden houses, curioualy 
thatched and gabled, flank a network of canals surrouading the 
triple moats of the Imperial Palace, on the site of the Shogun'i 
ancient fortress. Massive walls and gabled watchtowers defended 
this impregnable castle, where inward-sloping glacis and mony 
escarpments, black-roofed gateways, and stone embankments Mat- 
ling mth gnarled pines, still individualise this feudal monument of 

Imperial Tokyo. 223 

and the calendar of this poetic land is marked by the unfolding 
blossoms of Nature's pageant, from the springtide beauty of plum 
and cherry bloom, to the autumn ''blush of the scarlet maple.** 
The Japanese knows no sweeter pleasure than to meditate among 
the flowers cultivated to unexampled perfection, sipping tea under 
the purple wistaria tresses, enjoying the regulation three whiffs from 
a tiny pipe^ and writing verses on strips of mulberry paper to hang 
on pink cherry bough or crimson tree-peony. Life under the 
blossoming branches resembles an idyl of the Golden Age, and 
transports our thoughts to an earlier world. Love of Nature 
produces a simplicity and refinement unique in an age of stress and 
strain, the traditional tastes which surprise us to-day underlying 
even the military ardour and strenuous deeds of the blood-stained 
past In the year of grace 1903, though Japan hovers on the veige 
of inevitable war, the festival of the Chrysanthemum takes place with 
miabated enthusiasm. Excited crowds throng the lanes of Dango- 
Zaka, the suburb of Tokyo given up to the cultivation of the 
imperial flower — the sixteen-petalled chrysanthemum being the 
Government crest Many-coloured lanterns, long banners bearing 
the scarlet disc of the Rising Sun (most prophetic of symbols !) gilt 
dragons, and graceful devices of the ever-decorative rice-straw, 
adorn the narrow streets, thronged with crowds in gala attire. 
Flower-decked heads, butterfly bows of silken obis^ and gay kimonos^ 
make a dazzling show. Here and there a damsel of the higher classes 
shows glimpses of three or four differently coloured kimonos of painted 
crape, worn one above another, her &mily crest embroidered in 
white on her back. Friends salute each other with three profound 
bows, and frequent use of the honorific titles customary in polite 
Japan. Brown children gather round bamboo booths filled with 
fragile toys made of straw, wood, or paper, of infinitesimal size, and 
marvellous cheapness, but showing conscientious workmanship and 
elaborate mechanism. A straw house with three sets of sliding screens 
is a perfect model of a Japanese dwelling. A riksha^ apparently 
constructed from a shaving, possesses running wheels with a movable 
hood ; and a wooden sampan, oars and rowlocks complete, has every 
tiny peg in place. In matted sheds wooden stages are filled with 
waxen-foced figures in garb of Court or camp, made of living chry- 
santhemums trained over hidden frames. A Daimio in chrysanthe- 
mum robes of crimson and white stands amid attendant samurai in 
chrysanthemum armour of yellow and brown. A lady in floral train 
of shaded pink leans over a cascade of white blossom, falling firom 
a Sower-covered diff. A cavalcade crosses a chrysanthemum bridge 

224 "^^ GeniUman^s Magamte. 

of terra-cotta tint, the horses caparisoned in purple and gold. 
Tableau after tableau is wound up, the climax consisting of the 
national epic known as " The Forty-seven Ronins," a loyal band who 
died for their feudal lord. Shaka and his Arhats smile upon us in 
chrysanthemum robes of the sacred yellow, varying from orange to 
primrose, while giants and heroes, dragons, storks, and mythological 
animals, loom in the shadows of green bower and mossy cave. A 
junk with sails of red and amber blossom suffers realistic shipwreck 
in a chr]rsanthemum sea, where grey leaves and snowy flowers Uytm 
an island of refuge encircled by white breakers. Showmen chant 
the story of the revolving scenes, more grotesque than pleasing, and 
in spite of the depth and brilliancy of colour, the chrysanthemum in 
its original home disappoints the eye accustomed to the soft huet 
and graceful contours of the English flower. Japanese eicactness 
pricks every petal to uniform length, even adding an exquisitely 
fashioned paper flower to heighten the symmetry of a lop-sided 
bush, spreading the blossoms to gigantic size, dwarfii^ them to 
doll's house proportions, and growing them on stems eight feet high. 
In the sombre avenues of Shiba and Ueno, diverted (rom 
monastic uses into public parks, stand those glorious mortuary 
temples of the mighty Sheens, inferior in splendour only to the 
shrines of Nikko, and displaying like them the magnificent possi- 
bilities of lacquer as a medium of decorative art. The tomb of the 
second Sbogun is the largest specimen of golden lacquer in the 
world, and the lustre obtained by grinding and polishing sur&ce 
after surface of the varnish produces the effect of looking through a 
transparent lake into a sparkling bed of golden sand. Endless toil 
and care are required to bring lacquer to the perfection which 
renders it so indestructible that no connoisseur can dedde the age 

Imperial Tokyo. 225 

war. The blaze of gold and scarlet, emphasised by a background as 
of brilliant jet, on which the gilded statues cast golden shadows ; 
the delicate floral sprays thrown nitb fairy-like lightness into the gleam- 
ing lacquer, but rendering it costly as jewels, fill these noble burial 
balb with pomp and colour. Dazzled eyes turn with relief to the 
darkness of the pine-groves, the shadowy tanks sown thickly with the 
sacred lotus, and the stone lanterns green with moss, as we follow a 
yellow-robed priest down a mouldering stair, and thankfully exchange 
the glories of Art for the restful cal in of Nature. An ancient cherry 
tree growing over a Shogun's grave outside the historic monuments 
testifies to his love of flowers, and flora! legends twine round 
numerous temples. The shrine of Umewaka, thronged by wor- 
shippers, commemorates a sorrowing mother, whose child, stolen as 
a slave, perished on the spot, and revealed himself through the sigh- 
ing branches of a weeping willow. An anniversary service is still 
held beneath the sacred tree, and raindrops falling from the 
tremulous leaves are reverenced as " Umewaka's tears." 

The great Asakusa temple is the sanctuary of the populace, 
crowding the long lanes of loy-shops, stalls of images, incense-sticks, 
and candles, leading to the gateway guarded by the red statues of 
the divine kings Indra and Brahma, who scare away demons from 
the hallowed spot. Crowds throw pellets of paper at these grotesque 
Ni-o, those which rest on the images signifying that the petitions 
symbolised will be answered. Vizo, "nourisher of little children," 
has a prayer-wheel in his shrine, and a crest of three nets com- 
memorates the fishing-hut where the first altar to Kwannon was 
raised by an exiled prince who gained a precarious livelihood on this 
desolate spot by casting his nets at the mouth of the river Sumida, 
where, in a.d. 593, he fished up a miraculous image of the goddess, 
two inches high, the raison (Tltrt of the present colossal temple. 

Pigeons coo and flutter in the dusky courts, family parties sit 
round teapot and brazier, fortune-tellers retail their amulets, and 
children play round an altar where Shaka (the Japanese title of 
Buddha) smiles benignly across a shining galaxy of gold and silver 
lotUfl flowers. The great Asakusa bell booms at intervals, and a 
pilgrim procession enters the vast court with ex volo lanterns and 
pictures to add to the thousand ofl^erings which already disfigure 
walls and loofs. To the shrine of Yizo weeping mothers bring the 
toys of their dead children, implori ng his care for the lilde spirits set 
free from Maya, the world of illusion, for the passionate yearnings 
of the human heart break through the fetters of ironbound creed, 
and demand that unconditional immortality which Buddhism denies, 

VOL. ccxcvn. KO. 3085. R 



226 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

and Shinto ignores. The museum contains Christian mementoes 
of a Japanese embassy to Rome in a.d. 1614, sent by the Daimio 
of Sendai, and the gifts bestowed by the Pope remained until lately 
in the family of this religious inquirer. Pictures, rosaries, crucifixes, 
and a Japanese book of Catholic devotions, tell the story of the 
expedition, the photographed letters to the Pontiff in Japanese and 
Latin indicating the culture of the native prince. An ancient notice- 
board forbidding the adoption of Christianity belongs to a subsequent 
era of persecution, together with specimens of " trampling boards,** 
oval blocks of metal stamped with figures in high relief of our Lord, 
the Cross, and the Blessed Virgin, which those suspected of embrac- 
ing the Faith of Christ were ordered to tread under foot as a proof 
of orthodoxy. The great Shintomiza Theatre at Tokyo is the home 
of the traditional drama developed from the lyric NOy which origin- 
ated from the sacred dance of Shinto temples, commemorating the 
'' woven paces and waving hands " of the heavenly hierarchy as they 
danced in mazy evolutions before the cavern of the great sun-goddess, 
Ama-terasu, "the Heaven Shiner." Men only are employed in 
dramatic performances, and the aristocratic prejudices of old-world 
Japan regarded actors as only one degree higher than the outcast 
Eta^ butchers, leather-sellers, and curriers, whose contravention 
of Buddhist commands was held in abhorrence. The Tokugawa 
Shoguns were the first of the ruling class to recognise the valuable 
possibilities contained in the elementary germ of dramatic art. 
Puppets moved by wires supplemented the No dance, the custom 
surviving in the life-sized figures adorning Japanese fairs. Realistic 
scenes performed by human actors succeeded, as the inevitable 
reaction from dumb show, but until the Restoration brought about 
the overthrow of feudalism, the interpreters of dramatic art possessed 
no civic rights, and were held in general contempt Theatres have 
changed their scope, and improved their methods, but social prejudice 
is too deeply ingrained to be eradicated in one generation, and the 
steps to be climbed by the actor who would rehabilitate himself in 
social esteem are steep and painful as those stairs which Dante trod 
with bleeding feet. The story of every historic play or pantomimic 
dance is familiar to the Japanese populace through oral tradition, 
but the written language of the drama is often unintelligible except 
to scholars. The No^ with its ramifications and additions, was 
only performed in monasteries, and in the " spread-out houses ^ 
of the Daimios belonging to the Shogun's court, where alone the 
elaborate ceremonial and stilted expressions could be understood. 
Waving fiuis and tinkling bells possessed mysterious meanings 

Imperial Tokyo. 22^ 

incomprehensible to the multitude, time was of no account, and the 
No generally occupied the greater part of three days. The first act 
expressed the religious idea of propitiation and sacrifice, the second 
concerned the punishment of the sinner through the agency of devils, 
and the third exalted the good and beautiful, who in fairy-tale fashion 
*• lived happy ever after ! " 

Legend and myth, war and chivalry, contribute largely to 
Japanese drama. The stage is almost bare, the elementary scenery 
recalling descriptions of a playhouse in Elizabethan days, but 
armour and costumes are magnificent, the graven metal, rich 
brocades and gold-embroidered silks, vividly impressing the spectator 
with the feudal splendour of the great Daimios, whose exploits form 
the favourite theme of the actor. The audience sits on the floor 
partitioned off into low pens by planks enclosing six-foot squares 
occupied by numerous parties, drinking tea, smoking tiny pipes, and 
tapping them against the little tabako bon with its glowing cone oC 

Tragedy, torture, miracle, and the hundred extravagances of an- 
exaggerated chivalry, alternate with emotional sentiment, satire, and. 
comic interludes, amazingly funny to the native mind, but appearing 
to the European dreary as the feeble jokes of a Greek pby, and 
equally destitute of point An English-speaking Japanese kindly 
interprets the dramatic mysteries, which certainly do not tell their 
own story to us by action. Settled authorship is unknown, the 
manager evolving a plot from his own inner consciousness, weaving 
into the fabric incidents of fact or fiction, from historic past or 
journalistic present, with the help of a literary assistant, who lops 
and prunes into shape the raw material submitted to him. A chorus 
in Greek fashion explains or declaims when the story gets 
entangled, but individual fancy has full play, and the spectator 
dreams himself back into the days of chivalry with uncritical delight 
The long day at the theatre, from 11 a.m. to 10 p.m., requires, 
perpetual tea-drinking between the lunch, dinner, and supper,, 
carried in red lacquer chow boxes by swift-footed attendants. 
Some quaint little mousmisy with almond eyes and oblique eyebrows, 
throw down their painted fans to peck daintily at baked prawns, tiny 
fish, and salted bonbons, but the sight is less pleasing when they 
attack huge bowls of snowy rice, shovelling it down their long yellow 
throats as though pouring grain into a sack, and sending chopsticks 
after it to an alarming depth, in preparation for the next capacious 
mouthful. Children run about the house, lifting the flimsy curtain 
to peep at the preparations for the next act, and flitting away 


328 The Gentlemaiis Magaetnt, 

only just in time to escape knocks from a rerolnng stage, coreied 
with pine and bamboo to represent a forest-glade. A nanow 
platform extends from greenroom to curtain, and the actors stmt 
along it in grotesque style, their slow and pompons walk affording 
opportunities of admiring the 5[dendid robes. A company of 
demons and goblins dances behind them, the blood-curdling imagery 
of this haunted land unequalled in realistic terror. Japan, with her 
supernatural origin and sanguinary history, has sapped full ct 
horrors, reproducing and relishing them with eager zest Green-eyed 
monsters glare through the gloom, and hideous gods descend in 
blue fire from the roof to seize their victims, who die with 
appalling shrieks, while liberal streams of red paint flood the stage. 
Adetphi melodrama is not more orthodox in rewarding the hero and 
punishing the villain than remote Japan, and a paternal Goverrmient 
forbids pohtical plays, or allusions to modem developments of Court 
and Parliament, restricting theatrical performances to historical 
subjects and every-day romances. 

As the crowd streams out of the theatre into the staiiight, the 
paper lanterns of the Ginza flare on smoking eatables in trays of 
metal-work or porcelain set on the bare pavement Tokyo loses 
ber hybrid character under the dusky veil of night, the screens of 
wooden and paper houses are still undrawn, and afford glimpses 
of sleeping children on piled-up fittons beneath gilded Shakas. 
Red lamps bum before ancestral altars inscribed with the family 
names woven into Shinto worship, and we forget for a moment the 
ever-rising wave of Europeanism which threatens to submerge 
ancient Japan. The review on the Emperor's birthday, though 
arousing patriotic enthusiasm, is less convincing to the spectator accus- 
tomed to the external brilliancy of European armies, though subse- 

Imperial Tokyo. 229 

creed. On this auspicious day the chrysanthemum decks every 
house, and wreathes blackened eaves with rainbow garlands. The 
mausmi wears it in her satin black hair, ever uncovered, but alas 
never undone^ save by the hairdresser, who periodically builds up 
the loops and coils of the elaborate coifTure, the wooden pillows in 
Japanese use keeping the oiled tresses in perfect order. Mothers 
with babies tied on their backs shuffle along in wooden clogs and 
digitated tain of spotless whiter the shaven crowns and gaudy 
little kimonos of red, orange, and violet drawing attention to the 
tiny children, apparently happy in their cramped position, and 
waving paper chrysanthemums or miniature flags. Japan is the 
paradise of childhood, steeped in an atmosphere of gentleness, for 
Buddhism, though corrupted by Chinese influence, and overlaid 
with worthless accretions, ever inculcates reverence to the aged and 
tenderness to children, lovingly designated in Japan as " the treasure 
flowers of life." No mention of the points of interest in the environs 
of Tokyo would be complete without allusion to the historic 
Tokaido, the great post-road of the Empire from Kyoto to Yedo, 
traversed by the tributary Daimios with their splendid retinues, as 
they went to and from the Shogun's court The noble avenue of 
pines which shades the pebbled highway still remains, but the road 
itself is almost deserted. It is said that the traffic in the Middle 
Ages, and even down to the present century, equalled that of the 
most crowded London streets, and the Tokaido presented a kaleido- 
scopic scene of gaily clad pedestrians, palanquins, and pack-horses. 
The sunlight gleamed through the green roof of foliage on the 
armour of myriad retainers, and many a free fight occurred when 
the gorgeous trains of two princes met — though the etiquette of the 
rencontre was rigidly defined, the inferior in rank dismounting from 
his palanquin and waiting with his followers while the superior 
passed, the question of precedence being an oft-disputed point* 
Inns, teahouses, and resting sheds were innumerable, catering for 
all classes of customers, the two-sworded samurai were everywhere 
en hndence^ and the light-hearted populace with their holiday robes 
tucked up for facility of movement, sped gaily along the stony way, 
twanging lute and samisen^ singing national ballads in chorus, and 
refreshing themselves with weak tea and merry chat. The love of 
travel so noticeable in the modem race is inherited from those days 
of constant pilgrimage, for a Daimio's train included a ftinge of 
followers, who availed themselves of the protection given by the 
armed escort to the poor and feeble. In thatched villages among 
the ripening rice-fields, beds of lilies grow on the ridge-poles, the 

230 Tht Gentlemafis Magazine. 

custom dating from a time when a tyrannous Shogun had the plants 
uprooted to prevent his female vassals from powdering their faces 
with crushed lily-bulbs. The decree was evaded by transferring the 
plants to the roof, and though the floral cosmetic is abandoned, and 
the lily-bulb is now used as an article of food, the green spears 
and white blossoms still surmount the brown thatch, frirther adorned 
\nth luxutiant mosses and ferns sown by Nature's hand in this 
humid climate. In poetic Japan, where palm and pine-tree meet, 
the typical trees of north and south often grow together, the music 
of the sighing boughs mingling with the rustle of broad green fronds. 
Pictured scenes on fan and tea-tray are suggested by landscapes of 
formal and finished grace, where even untrammelled Nature possesses 
an element of fantastic caprice, as though conical hill, and winding 
vale, pme-clad rock, and thicket of bamboo, grouped themselves 
with a studied effect bordering on artificiality. The glowing green of 
young rice alternates with the yellow of ripening crops, and the 
scarlet lily of autumn flames on dyke and bank. Junks in the 
shallow bay show square sails of russet hue, and the snow-crowned 
vision of ethereal Fujiyama rises in purple majesty to the turquoise 
sky. Yokohama, the Europeanised port of Tokyo, contains little of 
distinctive character, but a visit to Kamakura and Enoshima com- 
bines the wonders of art with the beauties of Nature in the vicinity 
of the imperial city. The curtained shrines of Shinto temples may 
suggest to the worshipper the unseen presence of divinity, but the 
symbolism of Buddhist creed proves more appealing to western 
thought, and the colossal bronze statue known as Daidutsu (the 
lord Buddha) in the pine groves of Kamakura is an ideal representa- 
tion of the great teacher who moulded Eastern faith before the light 
of a truer gospel dawned on the waiting world. A gentle warning 
at the gate of the shadowy garden solemnises the careless gazer. 
Welcome^ stranger, whoever thou art, and whatever thy creed may be^ 
only remember that thou treadest on ground hallowed Ity the worship of 
ages. This is the Temple of BuddhcL, and the gateway of the Eternal^ 
therefore draw near with reverence. 

The majestic countenance of the Light of Asia expresses a pro- 
found and supernatural peace. So impressive is the solemn beauty 
of the noble face that troubled hearts find solace in coming hitheri 
metaphorically laying their burden of care at Buddha's feet, and 
experiencing the soothing effect of his supernal calm. Equally 
beautiful is the mighty golden figure of Kwannon, Goddess of 
Mercy, in a neighbouring temple. Buddhism contains reminiscences 

Imperial Tokyo. 231 

as well as foreshadowings of a purer creed, and tradition suggests 
that theory and practice became coloured by Christian influences. 
The two systems re-acted on each other, the philosophy of Origen 
retaining ideas of transmigration probably derived from Buddhism. 
Kwannon, the Thousand-handed, indicates reflections of the Virgin 
Mother, and of intercessory prayer, the association of ideas giving 
the glorious figure a higher interest and a deeper meaning than those 
recognised by the Buddhist worshipper. Beauty of expression and 
purity of outline mark a type unfamiliar in the Far East, and the 
pitiful face of the divine Kwannon expresses a lofty ideal of spiritual 
motherhood. Kamakura, the capital of Eastern Japan from the 
twelfth to the fifteenth century, was repeatedly sacked and burnt 
to ashes by rival factions. Tidal wave, typhoon, and earthquake 
added to the ravages of civil war, but though ruined temples and 
mouldering shrines retain traces of the devastating past, the bronze 
Buddha and the gilded Kwannon remain unchanged by time and 
conflict. Beyond the yellow sands of the present seaside village lies 
fantastic Enoshima, sacred to Benten, Goddess of Luck. At low 
water a sandy ridge connects isle and mainland, the rocky stah* of 
the Ashing hamlet climbing a chestnut-shaded gorge. A massive 
stone iorii bears the inscription " The sanctuary of the Goddess of 
Enoshima," and shrines of Benten nestle amid the foliage. Mossy 
paths encircle the hill and lead to time-worn altars, but the sanctum 
sanctorum of the goddess is a vast cave reached by steps and galleries 
cut in the cliiTs. Religion and pleasure join hands ; gay groups 
throng stalls of coral and shells, twang samisens under the trees, 
plying chopsticks at al fresco meals, or imbibing green tea and sakL 
Rocks and tea-houses command noble views of the blue Pacific and 
the gold-rimmed arc of Odawara Bay, but the hurricanes which rage 
round Enoshima originate wild legends of sea-monsters and demons 
subjugated by the guardian goddess. The turmoil of wave and 
tempest, the air thick with flying foam tossed to the crest of wind- 
swept pines, and hanging in ghostly wreaths from writhing boughs, 
foster the growth of gloomy myths which on this day of laughing 
light seem incongruous with the enchanting spot, an ideal sirens' 
isle in the azure Eastern seas. Japan has been called " the child of 
the world's old age," and her people possess something of childhood's 
unconscious charm. The passion for Nature which was the source 
and inspiration of Japanese art is an ineradicable instinct of the race 
on which artificial pleasures have never exercised that searing influence 
whereby simplicity of taste and freshness of feeling are continually 

332 Tk$ Gentlema^t Maga^u. 

ieatiofed. Tbe Earopein ideas immpuit in Impend Tol^ weon 
new character! on tbe lecqAhv soibce of tbe natioiMl ndod, but 
amid social renrintioiu and political opbenal^ Ae tool of the 
populace retains tbow nnchanging fonnt of bacy wfaidi oodait die 
iwying fonns of thought, and still rest near and dear to the inmost 
beaitoftdd Japan. 





FOUR members of this family are, in all, mentioned by Shake- 
speare and Wordsworth. In the second part of " King Henry 
VI." we find Thomas, the sixth Baron, referred to as ''Old 
Clifford," and his son John as " Young Clifford " ; in the third part 
of the play the latter alone appears, under the name of Lord 
Clifford. In Wordsworth, the romantic early history of Henry, the 
''Shepherd Lord," is the subject of his poem called "Song at the 
Feast of Brougham Castle," and is also referred to in the first canto 
of " The White Doe of Rylstone " ; and in his " Countess* Pillar " we 
have mention of Lady Anne Clifford, who through her two marriages 
became Countess of Dorset, and of Pembroke and Montgomery. 

The Cliffords, in the days of their greatest power, held possession 
of an almost uninterrupted tract of territory extending from Skipton- 
in-Craven to Penrith in Cumberland ; their past greatness is recalled 
by the Castles of Skipton and Appleby, which still exist in their 
entirety, by the ruins of Barden Tower, of the Castles of Pendragon, 
Brough, and Brougham, and by the tombs of the family in Skipton 
and Appleby churches. Those who have lived in or who have 
visited this part of the country will be familiar with many of these 
memorials, which are connected with the names of individuals who 
have played a prominent part in some of the most stirring scenes of 
our earlier history. But the fact that certain members of this family 
are referred to at some length by two of our greatest poets is perhaps 
more likely to save the name of Clifford from oblivion than even 
those massive buildings and remains which are associated with it» 
and will carry an echo of their achievements far beyond the limits of 
the country where they were performed. 

How wonderful is this capacity of a great writer, which invests 
with interest and romance things and events which the uninitiated 
eye, left to itself, would pass over carelessly and neglect 1 And the 

234 ^^^ GentUmaiis Magasiiu. 

thinp and persons so described faecome for m types and STmbols of 
the interest which attaches itself, did we bat rcaUse it, to the actioaf 
and character of erery human bdn^ Nor oeed we altogether 
lament, as we strive to understand the meaning of what the past has 
bequeathed to us, that so much time and ^lace bare been giren by 
chroniclers and historians to a narrative of events which concerns 
chiefly the doings of soremgns and those of noble Uith, while the 
life of the people has been almost entirely ^nored. A ceitjun 
amount, it is true, of the interest which we feel in such men is due 
to the fact that they were the heads and leaders of growing 
nationalities, and that important issues were involved in the line of 
conduct adopted by them at any particular juncture ; but on 
reflection it will be found that the real value which a study of the 
lives of these men can have for us is to be obtained by regarding 
such persons primarily as men and women, with constitutions and 
capacities similar to our own, and who, in the course of thdr 
existence, were called upon to solve problems, on a different scale 
perhaps, but in their essence not different from those irtiich we are 
daily called upon to face. In the last analysis of all transactions, 
whether it be those which concern ourselves or those which form 
the subject of recorded history, it is the personal character of 
indinduals which determines the course of events. The older and 
more thoughtful we become, the more keenly do we realise the vast 
and transcendent importance of this personal equation in all human 
affairs. And while the philosophic student of history is absorbed in 
and kscinated by the magnitude of the ethical problems which 
present themselves to him at every turn, he will not foiget to temper 
his judgments with charity when he remembers how deeply hidden 
in the past lie the causes of all personal conduct and action, in 

The Cliffords in Shakespeare and Wordsworth. 235 

only a commendable maxim, but one most necessary for us to 
accept, if we wish to appreciate in their full significance the events 
which have moulded the destinies of peoples. As the scientist^ 
searching for causes, becomes more and more conscious that, under- 
lying all the infinity of forms of matter, there is one material and 
indestructible energy, so, in our researches into human history, we 
realise more and more that behind all this apparent confusion and 
multiplicity of external detail is to be found the soul of man, which, 
impelled by some extraordinary and innate instincts, is seeking ever 
for clearer apprehension of the truth, and so is observed imdergoing 
a course of education which never is, and perhaps never will be, 
completed. And in every period and phase of its development we 
see humanity, actuated by the same mighty and progressive impulse, 
looking forward into the future always with the same eager hope and 
the same infinite faith in the seriousness and reality of its mission. 
And so it is that, whatever part of human history we examine, we 
shall find, however unfamiliar the form of it may be, that it is yet 
inspired and moved by the same restless and insatiable spirit as that 
which now is ever urging us on to new quests and adventures. 


The first member of the family of whom we shall speak is John, 
ninth Lord Clifford, who under the name of "Young Clifford" 
makes a short appearance at the end of the second part of " King 
Henry VI.,'' and who, as Lord Clifford, is a leading personage in 
the third part of the play, and, according to Shakespeare, meets his 
end at the battle of Towton.^ 

It is unnecessary for us here to consider to what extent Shake- 
speare was the author of these two plays ; they are always included 
in every complete edition of his works, and contain many fine 
passages which could scarcely have come from any other than his 
master hand. His connection, whatever it may be, with the three 
plays that deal with this reign gives to them an enduring and uni- 
versal interest, constituting them part of that select portion of the 
world's literature, which we would never willingly allow to be for- 
gotten, and the characters who there appear, to " strut their little 
hour," are entitled to be studied with the respect and attention 
which are the recognised due of everything which forms part of an 
accepted classic. 

His aged father had just been killed in that first battle of St. 

* He was actnally killed on the eve of Towton, at Ferry Bridge. 

236 Tkg GtntUmaiis MagasoMt. 

Albans, with which the Wars of the Roses opens, while fitting 
bmvely with Richsrdi Duke of York, in a nuumer to excite the 
admiration of his foe. His son, who is not yet twenty yean of age, 
comes upon the scene, and vows that from henceftMwaid his heart 
shall be turned to stone ; he will wreak vengeance on the House of 
York, and if he meets an in&nt of that fiunily he will, he decUreSt 
cut it in as many pieces 

As wild Medea 7001% Abcjitiu did. 
In the next act of the play we witness, in the "Parliamoit- 
Hoase " at London, a declaration made by Henry VI, of his claim 
(o the Crown, a claim hotly disputed by the Duke of York and his 
ftdlowers who are presenL Much passion is displayed \yj the 
partisans of either sid^ and Clifibrd, who, true to his recent vow, 
shows himself as fierce as any of them, cries : 

King Heniy, be "Asj dtte i^hl oi wror^. 

Lord Clifiocd lows to figfat in thy defence. 

Ha; that ground gape, and *w>llow me alive. 

Where I shall kneel to him that tlew my fitther. 

Henry, in his anxiety to heal the strife, agrees to a compromise 
by which he is to be recognised as King during his lifetime, and 
after his death the Crown is confirmed as the possession of York 
and his heirs. The three northern Lancastrian barons, the Earis of 
Northumberland and Westmorland and Lord Oiflford, openly 
express their indignation at the wrong which Henry is here doing to 
the rights of his son Edward, and, in di^st, leave the royal 
presence, to inform the Queen of the King's decision. 

In the second scene Clifford is in the country near Sandal Castl^ 
in the neighbourhood of Wakefield, where he meets Edmund, the 

The Cliffords in Shakespeare and Wordsworth, 237 

In the next scene the Duke of York, captured at the battle of 

Wakefield, is confronted with Margaret of Anjou and Clifford, his 

bitterest enemies. Margaret shows him a napkin, stained in young 

Rutland's blood, and, placing a paper crown upon his head, mocks him 

for his presumption in claiming the Crown of England. The Duke, 

in a passionate outburst of grief, which even now can move the 

hearts of those who read it, protests against Margaret's inhuman 


Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this ; 
And if thoa tell'st the heavy stoiy right. 
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears. 
And say, — Alas, it was a piteous deed. 

And then he resigns himself to the death which he meets 

By the ireful arm 
Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen. 

The second act opens with the reception by the Yorkist leaders, 
Edward and Richard, of the news of the defeat at Wakefield and the 
death of their father. Then the Earl of Warwick arrives to announce 
that his own soldiers, disheartened either by the report of Margaret's 
recent victory, or by a 

More than common fear of Clifford's rigour. 
Who thunders to his captives blood and death, 

had fled before the royal troops at the second battle of St Albans. 
And now once more the rival armies meet, in that fierce and stub- 
bom fight onTowton Field. The Yorkists at first break their ranks 
and flee, but are rallied and at last led to victory, chiefly through 
the valour and resolution of Warwick, the famous '' setter up and 
plucker down of kings." For a moment, in the heat of the battle, 
we catch a glimpse of Clifford, crossing swords with Richard, Duke 
of York, who seeks to avenge himself on the murderer of his father 
and brother. Even Clifford quails before his grim and murderous 
attack, and seeks safety in flight. But the time of retribution has 
arrived, and in the last scene of this act we see him entering, 
mortally wounded. With his own death he recognises that all hope 
of the success of the Lancastrian arms disappears : 

Here bums my candle out ; ay, here it dies. 
Which, while it lasted, gave King Henry li^t. 

The latter owes his downfall to his lack of firmness. If only, he 
thinks, Henry had ruled with the vigour of his father and grand- 
&ther, then 

338 Tit GeutUman's Magatime, 

1 Aod '^*f thooMikd in tins loddcM rcmlm 
Had left Do ntonrning •ido** for our death, 
And tboQ ihia daj haibt kept thj chair ia peiue. 

But now complaints are useless ; he can expect do pity from his 
foes, and the blood which is flowing from bis wounds tells him 
that death has come : and he actually expires in the presence of the 
Yorkist leaders before he is noticed by them. Each of them, in 
turn, insults the body of their fallen enemy, and the last that we hear 
of him is that his head is to be struck ofi' and set on the gates of 
York, in the place where but a short time before had stood the 
head of Edward's father. 

And so perished, at the age of twenty-five, this redoubtable baron 
whose unhappy familiarity with deeds of blood procured for him 
from his enemies the litle of " Butcher," He died, as did the three 
heads of his family immediately preceding him, on the Geld of battle ; 
and the scenes from Shakespeare, which have just been described, 
give us some idea of the wild and barbaric character of the times in 
which the CliSbrds founded their fortunes and won their way to 
celebrity, and they may serve as a sort of prologue to the more 
pleasing episodes of their family history, which we are now called 
upon to consider. 


The termination of the Wars of the Roses is coincident in 
time with the close of the mediaeval period of European history : 
the discovery of America, and that wonderful revival of literary 
and artistic activity which we term the Renaissance, mark the com- 
mencement of a new era of thought and action. This < 

The Cliffords in Shakespeare and Wordszvorth. 239 

pictures the joy with which the new lord is welcomed by his vassals 
and retainers : 

Loud voice the land has uttered forth, 
We loudest in the £EUthfttl north : 
Our fields rejoice, our mountains ring. 
Our streams proclaim a welcoming ; 
Our strong abodes and castles see 
The glory of their loyalty. 

The thoughts of the minstrel go back to the early years of his 
master's life ; he sees his mother with her child, fleeing in speechless 
terror from before her enemies. And now the boy is tendmg his 
sheep in the neighbourhood of Blencathra,* where lay his step- 
father's estate; and in his mood of fond affection and high- wrought 
poetic fancy he imagines he sees the very wild animals coming to do 
him homage. 

To his side the fallow deer 

Came and rested without fear ; 

The eagle, lord of land and sea. 

Stooped down to pay him fealty ; 

And both the und3dng fish that swim 

Though Bowscale tarn did wait on him ; 

The pair were servants of his eye 

In their immortality ; 

And glancing, gleaming, dark or bright, 

Moved to and fro, for his delight. 

Amid the caves and rocks he had entertained angel and fairy 
visitors, and mysterious voices revealed to him the story of the past, 
while in his midnight musings, as he gazed on the starlit sky, he had 
learnt the secrets of the future. 

But now the time has come, cries the bard, for other and nobler 
employments. The blood of the Cliffords, which flows in the 
young man's veins, bids him to take his share in perpetuating the 
glorious records of his house. 

Happy day, and mighty hour. 

When our Shepherd, in his power, 

Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword, 

To his ancestors restored, 

Like a re-appearing star. 

Like a glory from afar. 

First shall head the flock of war. 

But the minstrel, as he sung his warlike and impassioned strain, 
knew nothing of the transformation of feeling that had taken place 

' Better known as Saddleback. 

240 The GeiUlematis Magtutme. 

in this member of the Clifford fomily. During ttw Itng yean iriien 
he was being screened from the vindictive hatred of bit eoemiet he 
had lived a life far removed from the din of ums and from the 
thoughts and passions of war. His best friends had been humble 
cottagers ; and in his intercourse with them he had acquiied their 
simple, kindly virtues ; while, in his solitary vigib among his sheqi, 
his heart had become responsive to the sweet, pure influences of 

Lov« h*A h« fouod in hnti wbete poor men Ik % 

Hi* duly tcAcben had been woodi and rill^ 
The alencc that i« in tbe Many iky. 

The sleep that ii among the looely hills. 

In him the nvage rirtue of the race, 
Revenge, and all ferocioua thooghti neie dead i 

Not did he change ; but kept in lofty place 
The wiidom which advenity had bied. 

There was, in truth, a better cause for rejoicing among the 
followers of the house of Clifford than the minstrel coqld have 
conceived. Henry, the tenth Lord Clifford, had indeed come into 
the possession of his own — into that heritage which is the birthright 
of all of us, which is obtained through self-knowledge, self-control, 
and self-respect, those three mighty forces which, ensuring peace and 
recognition of the sovereign rule of reason within, lead without to 
such an infallible realisation of dignity and esteem as that which 
keeps for ever fresh and beneficent the memory of all just men. 
Glad were the vales, and eveiy cottage-hearth ; 

The Shepherd Lord was honoured note and more ; 
And, ages after he was laid in earth, 
"The good Lord Cliford " was the nama he bote. 

The Cliffords in Shakespeare and Wordsworth. 241 

Montgomery, whom Wordsworth made the subject of an interesting 
and snggestive little poem. It is called the '' Countess' Pillar," and 
refers to a monument standing on the roadside between Penrith 
and Appleby, with the following inscription : 

" This pillar was erected, in the year 1656, by Anne, Countess 
Dowager of Pembroke, &c., for a memorial of her last parting with 
her pious mother, Margaret, Countess Dowager of Cumberland, on 
April 3, 1616 ; in memory whereof she hath left an annuity of ^^4 
to be distributed to the poor of the parish of Brougham, every and 
day of April for ever, upon the stone table placed hard by. Laus 

The Countess had been twice married ; her first husband was 
the Earl of Dorset, by whom she had three sons and two daughters, 
but all her sons had died in childhood. Her second husband was 
Philip Herbert, Earl of Pembroke and Montgomery, and there were 
no children bom of this marriage. During the lifetime of the latter, 
' owing to the death of the male heirs of the House of Gifibrd, she 
came Into possession of all the family property ; and when her second 
husband died, in 1650, she returned to the north, and spent the 
rest of her life among the scenes and people she loved the best 

In the Civil War of the reign of Charles I. the old strongholds 
of the fiunily had suffered severely, and she has left behind a great 
reputation for the care and zeal with which they and the churches 
in their vicinity were restored by her. Besides the pillar above 
mentioned, there are other inscriptions still existing lyhich bear her 
name, and which are connected with certain incidents in her life. 
This love of old associations and attachment to particular spots 
hallowed by personal and sacred memories was a characteristic 
which appealed with peculiar force to Wordsworth, who shows every- 
where in his poems, and particularly in the beautiful series called 
" On the Naming of Places," how warmly his affections went out and 
entwined themselves around places in the neighbourhood of Rydal 
and Grasmere, which were associated with events in his own life and 
that of other members of his family. 

And of all the memorials and inscriptions which still recall to us 
the name of the Lady Anne, none can more deeply affect us, or is 
more suggestive of the light it throws on the circumstances of her 
inner life, than this roadside pillar which arrested the attention 
of the poet, and which, through his reference to it, is effectively 
pieserved from the danger of being forgotten. 

Daring the space of 175 years, which had elapsed from the time 
of its election to the date when Wordsworth wrote his poem, how 

VOL. ocxcvii. Ma ao8$. ^ 

243 Tke Geniiemaiis Mageudau. 

naof people had passed by that way, and bow few of those who 
stopped to lead that inscripdon had tried to mliae the meaning of 
what they lead ! It may be that some had felt the same tiirill of 
human emotion as that which, as he read, stiired within Wordswoith's 
breast ; but, until he came, n<Hie had had both the will and the 
power to make their feelings articulate and express them to the 
wotid. And, as we, imitating his example, stop to tead and try to 
ooderstand, what memories of disappointed hopes and ambitions; 
of blighted afliectiODS and domestic sonowi; crowd in upon the 
mind ! Of all the troubles which vex and torment poor, [nil 
humanity, which had she not known? In her girlhood she had 
teen the unity of their family life broken, and the happiness of her 
mother spoilt, by the wildness and insularities a( her father's 
conduct In neither of her two matrimonial experiences had she 
found congenial partners ; in their early childhood she had lost her 
three sons ; and her own good looks had been marred by the cruet 
scourge of small-pox. On the death of her father, her mother'! 
anxiety that her only child should inherit the Clifford estates had 
involved her for many years in tedious lawsuits wi± her nearest 
relatives ; and when at last, by their death, she secured the sole 
right of possession, the Civil War broke out, causing her great loss 
and destruction of property. Nevertheless, she survived and 
triumphed over all these calamities, and lived to the ripe age of 
eighty-five, respected for her uprightness and strength of character, 
and loved by all who had the opportunity of knowing what « 
generous and affectionate nature lay hidden under that somewhat 
autocratic and masterfid exterior. But how lonely must she often 
have felt, even in the full exercise of the activities of that vigorous 
brain and of those benevolent instincts, when she realised that, 

The Cliffords in Shakespeare and Wordsworth. 243 

was changed by her into an opportunity of enabh'ng, year by year, 
many poor and humble people to turn their thoughts in gratitude 
towards God. 

The poem of Wordsworth, which we append, and with which 
we conclude, is not indeed remarkable for its poetic excellences; 
but, like much that he has written, it has a far higher importance 
than any mere external merit of form could give. It is a tribute 
to the piety and generosity of the countess, and to her unfailing 
thoughUulness for those around her who were in suffering or in 
want; and it is a recognition by him of the sanctity of human 
affection, and of the sweetness of those ties of home and kinship 
which seem ever revealing to us, in their beauty, glimpses of a yet 
higher life and of a more perfect love. 

While the poor gather roand, till the end of time 
May this bright flower of charity display 
Its bloom, unfolding at the appointed day ; 
Flower than the loveliest of the vernal prime 
Lovelier— transplanted from heaven's purest clime. 
Charity never fiuleth : on that creed, 
More than on written testament or deed. 
The pious lady built with hope sublime. 
Alms on this stone to be dealt aoi^foriVirl 
*' Laus Deo." Many a stranger passing by 
Has with that parting mixed a filial sigh. 
Blest its humane memorial's fond endeavour : 
And, listening on those lines an ejre tear-glased. 
Has ended, though no clerk, with '* God be praised.*' 



The Gentlemaiis Magamm. 


THE smallest of tbe major planets and tbe nearest to the son. 
Mercury is almost always too deeply immened in tbe solar 
nys for the amateur observer to get a well-defined view of tbe 
Sparkler. Fot it is otdy visible to the naked eye in tbe s{»ing dorii^ 
about an hour and a half before sunset, and in the autumn about 
the same length of time before sunrise, shining on tbe fringe of the 
sky with a pale, rosy hue. 

The old Greeks, whose rich imaginatioD found in the lustre 
and movements of the planets a fertile source of myth and maivd, 
called this denizen of the heavens Stilbon, the SpatUer. But, 
strangely enough, they conceived the curious idea reqiectii^ it that 
it must surely be a thief— -its movements, hovering about tbe edge 
of tbe sky in twilight, were so very suspicious. How ame it that 
it never ascended the celestial vault as did the planets Venus and 
Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn ? It was a puzzle, and to account for its 
apparently stealthy ways called forth their keenest powers of observa- 
tion. It was noticed that the evening Sparkler never paid his visit* 
at the same period of the year as did the morning one ; still cl<wer 
watchfulness led to the identification of the two apparitions. It 
was now recognised that they were merely different visits of the 
same body. Arago, commenting on the peculiar notion tbe planet^ 

Mercury — the Sparkler. 245 

This bad character stuck to the planet all through the Middle Ages, 
when it was the proud boast of the astrologer that he had inherited 
the wisdom of the ancients if he knew the significance they attached 
to the stars in their courses. With profound look and moody 
brow he would stigmatise Mercury as a malignant agency — a sidus 

The story of the Sparkling One, indeed, carries the thoughts 
back to the dim &r-off past of Assyrian civilisation, and opens to the 
mind's eye a vista leading to the Babylonian temple of BduSi upon 
whose lofty summit the Chaldean astronomer, casting his eagle 
glance across the azure vault, takes note of the position and 
aspect of the planets; for on the morrow he will lay before the 
monarch a report of their significance. But recently the ruins 
of Nineveh have yielded to the explcnier tablets whereon are 
inscribed the Chief Astronomer's readings of the stars, for the 
information of King Ashurbinipal, and on which mention is made 
of the planet Mercury. How long the Chaldeans had known of 
its existence is uncertain, but Claudius Ptolemy, in the "Almagest," 
speaks of an observation made upon it by the Assyrian astronomers 
on the 19th of the Egyptian month of Toth, or according to our 
chronology, November 15, 265 ac The record, moreover, defines, 
the position which the planet occupied in relation to the constellation 
Scorpio. It is interesting to find that the ancient observation was- 
correctly given, analytical investigation having shown that Mercury 
would be situated exactly in the place indicated in the Assyriaa 

Coming to the early days of modem astronomy, we find Coper> 
nicus in his old age regretting that he had never seen Mercury. Sir 
Robert Ball suggests that the vapours of the Vistula, on whose banks 
the originator of the true theory of the solar system dwelt, may have 
been so dense as to render the planet invisible, for in the most 
favourable circumstances it could only be seen low down in the sky. 
The first trustworthy observation of Mercury was made in 1677 ^1 
our celebrated countryman Dr. Edmund Halley, who with a tele- 
scope witnessed its transit over the sun's disc from the island of 
St. Helena. 

Many allusions to Mercury are to be found scattered through the 
pages of astronomical literature of the seventeenth and eighteenth 
centuries; but they have little value, saving that they indicate a 
general desire to know more of its physical constitution — to lift 
the veil of mystery m which its features are enshrouded. The 
animating thought seems to have been — Can this planet, so like our 

246 The Gentleman's JIfagazitu. 

own in oater fonn, be the abode of life? Is it possible that, bathed 
in the Sun's refulgent rays, so near the source of all light and beat, 
it can be another world full of living activities, resembling life on 

In order to satisfy this craving for enlightenment the eminent 
German astronomer, Johann Hleronymus SchrOter, of Lilienthal, 
devoted a great part of his memorable life to a minute inspection of 
Mercury. A contemporary, and in some respects a rival, of the 
elder Herschel, he employed for his painstaking observations a seven- 
foot telescope made by Sir William, which Lalande pronounced to be 
the best in Europe. The first noteworthy observation SchrOter made 
on Mercury was in April 1791, when his new instrument enaUed 
bim to follow the planet through all its varying phases — like those of 
the waxing and waning Moon. Viewed on the side of the sua near 
its apparent greatest angular distance it appeared like a half-mooo, 
and when nearly between the Sun and the Earth it exhibited a 
slender crescent, day by day presenting all the pleasing fomu with 
which our satellite has made us familiar in her stately progress over 
the evening sky. His powerful glass brought into view a halo or 
glory resting upon the near side of the phinet, suggestive of a 
luminous atmosphere A few years later (1799) when Meictury was 
making a transit over the sun's disc he beheld a ring of scrftened 
light enveloping the whole body of the planet, which was so distinctly 
visible that he was able to estimate its height ; this he put at one- 
fouith the planet's diameter. It seemed to shroud Mercury's 
features with a delicate gossamer-like veil, on the outer edge cf 
which was a well-marked greyish fringe. He noticed also some 
dark streaks or spots, and that there was a decrease of light towards 
the terminator or hollow edge of the planet when in crescent form. 

Mercury — the Sparkler 247 

a-half miles — f>. about twice the height of the earth's loftiest range. 
Keenly alive to the importance of these revelations he sought for 
evidence of a diurnal rotation, and was not long in determining a 
periodic revolution about its axis completed in every twenty-four 
hours, five minutes. This he deduced from the regular recurrence, 
as he believed, of certain dark spots on Mercury's surface — appearing 
and reappearing at intervals of about twenty-four hours. Here, in- 
deed, was encouragement for the skilful observer in an unknown 
realm ; now was opening to the inward eye, if not to the telescope, 
a glimpse of a new habitable world. For, admitting the existence of 
an atmosphere, there follow all the conditions needful for a flourish- 
ing abode of vegetable and animal life. Duly considered, then, the 
presence of moisture-laden air implies the existence of surfieice waters, 
«un-drawn vapour-douds, rain, and, it may be, verdure. To these 
harmonious conditions add revolving periods of day and night, 
seasons of summer and winter, and imagination may revel at will in 
a world teeming with new forms of life, suited to the environment 
And in size this new world was found to have a diameter of about 
3,000 miles only — little more than a third the size of the earth. In 
density, however, it comes very near to that of our world, standing in 
the ratio of 85 to 100. 

Highly gratifying as would seem to be the progress made towards 
unravelling the mystic web which for ages had hung about the 
Sparkler, yet it may be well to bear in mind that the intervals for 
observation were brief; that occasionally the vapours of the horizon 
almost obscured the planet, rendering it difficult to get a clear view 
of its features ; that astronomy, indeed, was in Schrdter's day but on 
the threshold of a new era of discovery ; and in the infancy of inquiry 
expectation often points the way to the desired end, though time may 
prove it to be delusive. And as to Mercury being a habitable world, 
many things had yet to be found out which might cast a shadow 
over the £air prospect. 

In 1874, Zollner, who had long been practising with a photo- 
meter on the light reflected from the Moon, found that the shades of 
light at the varying phases were dependent on the nature of the 
surface of the Moon the light was reflected from ; that rugged 
mountainous tracts gave ofl* alternate dusky and brilliant reflections, 
while the smooth, homogeneous plain gave ofl* a continuous steady 
reflection. Testing Mercury in the same way he found his phases 
corresponded to the former— -to the light reflected by high hills and 
deep valleys. Winnecke, too, applying the same methods, had 
obtained like results ; and their measurements also agreed in show* 

248 The GeMiUman's Mofftmiu. 

ing that the planet absorbed all but 13 per cent of the Sene tight 
which incessantly beats upon it. They found no evidence of an 
atmo^beie — nothing, at any rate, capatde of reflerting the aolar 
hghL In this respect they consider that Mercury is in the same 
condition as the Moon. The delicate rosy halo in which the [danet 
is swathed, what else can it be than the unabaorbed aaiax rajt seen 
through the medium of our dust-laden atmosphere ? 

It is wonderful what a world of exalted sentiment has been called 
into bdngbydust ! £utforthecountlesGtonsof dust(andinoiAire) 
floating in the air we should have no magnificent auroral diqdayi 
tipping the hills with gold; no afterglow imperceptibly melting into 
the blue canopy of heaven. Glittering orbs and black space then 
would be, but no cerulean vault eme^jng out of rainbow tints to 
carry the thoughts upwards in calm, joyous contemplatim. And 
without dust we should possibly be free from the ormupreacnt 
microbe, for on its particles these living Oiganisms feed, and thrive 
and multiply ; indeed, wherever dust most abounds there the invisible 
foe is in his strength. And yet, putting the two conditions into the 
balance, let us gladly accept the dust with its living freight, and rejoice 
in the glorious wealth of colour the heavens display to our a 

Astronomers of to-day, notably Mr. R. A. Proctor, in " Old and 
New Astronomy," discuss the question as to whether Mercury 
possesses an atmosphere ; and, generally speaking, they come to the 
conclusion that the weight of evidence is decidedly against the 
existence of an almosphere. Mr. Proctor a^es that it can have no 
atmosphere in any way comparable to that of the Earth. He rema^ 
that the average degree of whiteness noticeable on Mercury's sur&ce 
would be greater than that of the Moon were the planet surrounded 

Mercury — the Sparkler. 249 

as an eyening star give no evidence which can £urly be referred to 
the presence of an atmosphere. All the particulars which have been 
so interpreted can be more satisfactorily explained by taking into 
account the effects of our own atmosphere, through the denser part 
of which (until recent years) Mercury was generally observed. But 
the time had arrived when the difficulties in the way of continuous 
observation were to be overcome. Mr. W. F. Denning, in 1883, 
found Mercury just as easy to observe as Venus. With a good 
telescope equatorially mounted he could follow Mercury in the dc^- 
tim€y and with higher magnifying powers very much more of its sur- 
&ce could be seen than formerly, when the planet was viewed for 
about ninety minutes near the horizon. In the same year (1883) 
Signor Schiaparelli, favoured with the purer skies of Italy, gave a 
close and continuous study to the planet's peculiar characteristics in 
daylight, and with remarkable results. His first discovery came as 
a shock to those of us whose archetype of the planets is our own 
best of all possible worlds. A diurnal rotation was shown to be a 
delusion. He found the markings on its surface which had led 
previous observers to infer a daily revolution on its axis remained 
sensibly fixed : there was no movement giving to the planet alternate 
periods of day and night. Fully realising the startling effect his 
discovery, if made known, would produce in the astronomical world, 
Schiaparelli put off its announcement until he had had time to go 
over the whole ground again, and so assure himself of the accuracy 
of his observations or be enabled to correct any error he might have 
tiXLen into. By 1890 his renewed investigations were completed; 
they left no doubt on his mind of the accuracy of his first observa- 
tions, and he thereupon ventured to give publicity to his discovery — 
namely, that Mercury always presents the same side to the Sun, thus 
turning on its axis in the same time needed to complete its circuit 
round the Sim. This being so, it follows that one hemisphere of the 
planet is exposed eternally to the fierce light of the Sun, which beats 
down upon its surface with an intensity, when at its greatest distance 
firom him, four times greater than that which we experience. And 
thb intensity of light gradually increases as Mercury approaches its 
perihelion, and ultimately becomes nine times greater than that which 
pours down upon the Earth in the torrid zone. The opposite 
hemisphere must therefore be one of perpetual night But the two 
r^'ons are separated by a space measuring about one-fourth of the 
planet's surface, where the Sun rises and sets once in 88 days. 
And yet there can be no change, no variation in the continuous 
fierce glare of the Sun upon one side, and the darimess of one ever- 

250 The Gentleman^ s Mqgunme. 

lasting night on the other. Aooording to this discovery Mercmy 
revolves round the son in the same manner as the moon does round 
her primary, the Earth, in her briefer period of 27^ days. No mortal 
eye has ever seen but one side of the Moon, and the visible 
side is crowded with sterile^ crater-oq^ped mountains, and deq> 
valleys into which the shadows of the mountains (all with the 
blackness of the darkest night In some respects, then — in her 
presenting always the same face to the Earth; in her rugged, 
mountainous surface, and the absence of atmosphere — we have near 
us in the Moon a parallel to Mercury's case. It is amazing to think 
of the wealth of romance the imagination has woven around the 
Queen of Night, as she sails forth — 

Ciown'd with the spaikk of a Star 
And throned an orb of ashen white. 

Schiaparelli's dose scrutiny of Mercury's surfiu:e during the day- 
time tMX>ught prominently into view dark and light shadows, like 
brownish stripes and streaks, visible on a rose-tinted disc. Being 
permanent features he was enabled to construct a chart of the hat 
of the planet showing their relative positions and outline. They 
were not, however, always equally well seen; at times they were 
veiled, even when centrally situated, as if thinly flecked by currents 
of dust-laden air — the simoom of a sandy desert Schiaparelli thought 
that these and other like appearances indicated the presence of an 
atmosphere of extreme tenuity. The thought naturally arises that if 
Mercury have an atmosphere at all, may it not be of a consistency 
such as will resist or greatly mitigate the severity of the fierce solar 
glare to an extent which would make life on the planet possible. It 
must be owned, however, after taking account of all the physical 
conditions known to us, that it is in the last degree improbable that 
either v^etable or animal life such as we have any knowledge of can 
exbt on the surface of Mercury. 

And yet what a world of wonders may there not be in store for 
the astronomer of the future armed with instruments perfected for 
every requirement man's longing for enlightenment on things astral 
may suggest — ^when the borderland lying between the two hemi- 
spheres of darkness and light may be explored with a curiosity &r 
transcending that experienced by Bruce or Baker in search of die 
mysterious sources of the Nfle? And who shall say that (beside 
these rq;ions of twilight) there may not be another realm in tfie 
interior of the Sparkling orb^ peofded by a race of highly organised 
beiqgp rejoidiig in their existence amid rippling streams, oyalal 

Mercury — the Sparkler. 251 

fotintains laving perennial verdure, and illumined with prismatic 
beams of light piercing through clefts and slanting shafts? Among 
fiury dells and grotto-like palaces adorned with gems of purest rays, 
sentient beings akin to ourselves may possibly play their part in 
the Mercurian drama, and pass away their lives in blissful dreams, 
heedless of the existence of any other world than their own. 


353 The GsntiMum's Magtuitu. 


Part I. *'Altbr Mako." 

WHAT knowledge is of most worth? Whatever we may 
think of Mr. Herbert Spencer's suggestion that the in- 
evitable answer is — Science, it is scarcely likely that the moat 
intrepid of educationists would answer, In one word, Vergil. Yet 
such, we may recollect, is the actual verdict of Dante. " Ed io mi 
Tolsi al mar di tutto il senno " < (" And I turned to the sea of all 
wisdom "). Vergil is dtua, signore, maestro? It is true that Dante 
is taking a journey, and therefore requires a personal guide. The 
conception of life as a journey, though old almost as man himself i< 
a point of view of no little significance for education. The idea (£ 
personality as the basis of teachership is as fruitful for education as 
for poetry. The supposed advantage of science, as supplying the 
vantage ground of objectivity of knowledge, can easily be stretched 
too far. The educand to-day is taking the journey of life and as ever 
needs a guide. He is a person ; but does he require the personally 

Baptista Mantuan^ Catholic Puritan. 253 

*' Exercise the soldiership of the fourth class " has, I venture to 
suggest, the true ring of educational process about it. Professor 
Comparetti has shown that there are three sides to the mediaeval 
reputation of Vergil — in other words, that there are three Vergils. 
I. The historical Veigil — ^the Veigil who stands as the supreme 
representative poet of the Augustan Age. II. The religious and 
philosophical Vergil, of *' unfathomable store of universal wisdom." 
III. The Virgil of the schools of grammar and rhetoric 

With regard to the philosophical Vergil, it is sufficient to cite the 
attitude of Dante, quel savio gentile che tutto seppe (" that gentle sage 
who knew everything "). From the point of view of religion great 
allowances were made for Vergil. Exceptional toleration was ex- 
tended to him by many religious people, and indeed Vergil received the 
distinction of being considered as a prophet of the coming of Christ 
through his fourth eclogue. *' The expectation," says Comparetti, '< of 
an inmiediate regeneration of the world, in an era of happiness, justice, 
love, and peace, which inspires the whole of this eclogue, the con- 
nection of this expectation with the birth of a child, and the ancient 
authority of the sibyl on which the whole prophecy is based, could 
not fail to induce a Christian when reading it to think of the birth ot 
Christ and the regeneration of the world, which his pure and gentle 
teaching promised."^ It was even urged that the mention of 
heathen deities by Vergil was only a device, so as not to '* affit>nt 
pagans and provoke the anger of the authorities."' To many 
Christians, therefore, in the early Middle Ages Vergil was the 
prophet of Christ And even by those who could not go so far an 
attempt was made to present a christianised Vergil, by means of the 
curious medley called a cento,' or again, authors wrote with a 
Christian bias on a Christian subject, and imitated the style, form, 
and matter of Vergil's " iEneid " and eclogues. 

With the two facts before us of the recognition of Vergil by 
scholars as the prince of poets and the sea of wisdom, together 
with the reservation of the Christian mystics that Vergil was bom 
before the Christian dispensation, and that by no ingenuity could he 
be brought within it, we can understand the background of thought 

> Comparetti, p. 99. ' Ikid. p. loa 

* Probablj the most interesting of the later centos is that of Alexander Ross, 

VirgaU toangilisaMiis Christiadas Libri XIII. with the description on the title 


<< Anna vlrumqne Maio cednit, nos acta Deumque ; 

Cedant anna viri, dun Ipqnor acta DeL" 
Ross's CArisHadma patdished in 1634. 

254 ^^ Gentiemaiis Mt^mn*. 

of John Colet when he dnws up the ftdlowiiig ststnte for St Fuh 

" As towchyng in this scole what shalbe taught of the Mabten 
ft learnyd of the scolen it passith my wit to devyse and detennyn 
in poiticiileT, but in genenill to speke and sum what to aaye my 
mynde, I wolde they were taught all way in good littenturc^ with 
laten and greke, and good auctois suych as haue the veny Romayne 
eliquence joyned with wisdome, spedally Cmtyn auctouis that wrote 
theyie wysdome with clene & chast laten other in veise or in proae, 
for my entent is hy thys scole specially to incresse koowl^e and 
worshipping of god & cure loide Crist Jesus & good Cristen lyff and 
maners in the children." 

The books for this end which he names are the CiUechism, bti 
own " Accidence " or any better to the purpose^ the " Instttutum 
Chttstiani Hominis," and Erasmus's " Copia." " And then," he goea 
on, "other auctours, as I^urtantius, Pmdentiua, Proba, Sedulhii, 
Juvencus, and Baptista Mantuanus." ' 

It is necessary now to enquire into the contents of the booki 
written by these authors, if we wish to enter into the point of view of 
educationists with Colet Lactantius flourished at the b^irmtng of 
the fourth century A.n He wrote, as is pointed out by Taylor,' 
when Constantine was comii^ to the throne (305 a.d.) and Qunti- 
anity was coming to its triumph, and is tiius "the eariiest Chiistian 
autborwhohadanymedisevalvogue." Before becoming a Christian be 
was a teacher of rtietoric, and the tide of his " Divina: lostitutiaQei " 
is thus framed on the model of l^al treatiaes. It is an elaborate plea 
for and justification of the Christian view. Lactantius "set* forth 

Baptista Mantuan^ Catholic Puritan. 255 

superiority in reason, and the warrants of its truth afibrded by the 
miracles of Christ and the predictions of the prophets. He discourses 
upon justice, finally upon the purpose of the world's creation and the 
course of the scuula until the conflict with the Antichrist ; where- 
upon follow Christ's thousand years of reign, and then die final 
conflict with the unchained devil and his hosts ; the wicked are 
overthrown and cast into hell, and the righteous rise firom their graves 
to enjoy for ever the vita btata^^ ^ Lactantius may thus be regarded 
as an author to be read in schools as a substitute for the Latin 
rhetorical and oratorical authors. "His style," says Taylor, ''is 
classical and expresses little Christian feeling. Nor does his work 
represent a deep understanding of Christianity." ^ But for Colet 
the classical style and the Christian subject in others was precisely a 
combination which made Lactantius a desirable school reading- 

The next chronologically on Colet's list is Juvencus. Juvencus 
was a Spanish priest who wrote his '* Historia Evangelica " about 
330 A.D. " Juvencus tells the Gospel story with smooth mediocrity, 
quite unconscious of how his measures fail to reflect the spirit and 
feeling of the Gospel To turn that story into hexameters means a 
continual change of stress, with loss of point and emphasis. The 
story of Christ stilling the tempest closes thus : 

Inde procellis 
Imperat et placidam stemit super sequora pacem.* 

The last is a good line, but the feeling and reminiscence are 

So, in Juvencus, Colet finds classical style based on Vergil, 
and Christian subject-matter. Prudentius is r^arded as a Christian 
poet of a higher order. He lived from 348 to c. 410 a.d. Probably 
Colet wishes the '* Psychomachia " of Prudentius to be intro- 
duced to the schoolboy. ''That was a didactic allegory. The 
pre&ce of iambic trimeters tells of Abraham with his three hundred 
and eighteen followers conquering the heathen kings, which means, 
allegorically interpreted. Faith, aided by Christ, conquering the 
representative sins of paganism. In the main poem, written in 
hexameters, the Christ-given virtues of the soul fight against the 
vices which threaten from out the soul itself and its proneness to 

■ TTu Classical fferUagi ofths Middle Ag$St p. 217. ' lUd. p. 2i6if. 

* Lactantius has been called the " Cicero of the Fathers " (J. H. Lupton's 
ViAct to Colet's Lecturts on I. Corinihiam). * QL jEnM^ L 249. 

• Thi Classical HirUagi ofthi MiddU Agis^ L pp. a&>-l. 

956 T^ Gentiemmis Magazin*. 

temptatioti. The conBict is set forth allegorically u a succession of 
combats betwe«i champions. Hrst Fides conquers Idololatm; 
dten Pudidtia conquers Libido, and Patientia conquers In. Tba 
Hens Humilis together with Spes, and aided by Justitia, Honestas, 
Sobrietas, Jejunia, and Pudor, conquer the arch-eneiny Superhia. 
After this Sobrietas overcomes Luxuna, among vhose followers ii 
Fugitirus Amor ; and Operatio (Charity) ovetthrows Avaritia. Con- 
cordia is now treacherously wounded by Disc(»tlia, sumamed 
HKtesis, whereupon Fides transfizes the Utter. The victory wcm. 
Fides urges that a temple be built to Christ, in describing which the 
poet follows the twenty-first chapter of Revelation.' Mr. H. O. Taylw 
describes Prudentius's " Psj-chomachia " as the " first Western example 
of a purely allegorical poem." But besides the " Psychomachia " 
Prudentius wrote Christian hymns, embodying i^ends of martyn 
nnder the title " Peristephanon." In one of these hymns to St 
Vincent Mr. Taylor finds a precursor of the ballad. 

Sedulius (f. 440 A.D.) attempted a Christian epic poem entitled 
" Paschale Carmen." It comprised somewhat less than two thousand 
hexameters, and was divided into fire books. The name would indicate 
some underlying thought on the part of the poet giving a unity to 
his work. It was a poem of Christ, our Passover, offered for men. 
The first book sings the miraculous deliverances in the Old Testa- 
ment. The second book tells of the birth and childhood of Christ, 
and the three remaining books sing the story of the saving tmraatla 
Christi, until the final Paschal sacrifice and redemption, consisting of 
Christ's death, resurrection, manifestation of Himself, and Hisascen- 

Of the nnters named by Cotet, Juvencus and Sedulius are essen- 
tially epic poets. These two are, as Mr. Taylor remarks, " Vergilian 

Bapttsta Mantuan^ Catholic Puritan. 257 

phrases of Vergil were utilised to convey the subject matter of 
Christian story. 

We have now seen that the idea of the founder of the great 
classical school of St Paul's was anxious to combine the advantages 
of classical style, if possible, with Christian subject-matter. Cicero 
was not suggested, for he was a heathen ; but the Ciceronian style 
should be induced through reading Lactantius. Vergil should not 
be studied directly, for he too was not a Christian, but the Vergilian 
style should be inculcated through Pnidentius, Sedulius, and Proba. 

Nor must it be supposed that Colet was peculiar in these views. 
Mr. J. H. Lupton ^ cites a passage (in Latin) from the important 
educational writer Jacob Wimpheling, of which I here introduce a 
translation, as it shows the contemporary Christian feeling as to the 
classics, and mentions the opinion held by a competent scholar as 
to some of the very writers whom Colet recommends for school use. 

''There are Christian writers extant by no means unequal to the 
pagans. We advise these writers to be read first by boys. Pniden- 
tius is the best, the most elegant, the one who has command of 
various kinds of metres. And there is Sedulius, who has related in 
most ornate song both affairs and sacred story . . . And there is 
Baptista Mantuanus, from whom the boy can be taught in truth 
whatsoever hitherto he could get from Vergil. Would that the same 
diligence had been expended over Prudentius which has been spent 
so often on Martial, on Tibullus and the other most impure writers, 
so that they might be explained. I know not by what fate it is that 
certain most learned Italians take more gently to the fables or to the 
histories of Gentiles, than to Christian matters and ceremonies, to the 
names and deeds of gods and goddesses than to Christ and divine 
Mary ; to uncleanness and lustful love than to holiness and charity." * 

Such men as John Colet and Jacob Wimpheling may be termed 
Catholic Puritans. Their position in the matter of classical educa- 
tion is similar to that of the Protestant Puritans, such as John Dury, 

* Prefiice to Colet's /. Corinthians^ p. liv. 

^ In the statutes of St. Bees Grammar School, drawn up in 1583, amongst 
the authors named are Mantuan, Sedulius, and Prudentius ; but the founder, 
Archbishop Grindall, enjoins that Cicero, Sallust, Caesar, Terence, Vergil, Horace, 
Ovid shall be read. He also includes Pallurgenius [i.e. MarceUus Palingenius 
"who wrote the famous Zodiacus Vitae, translated into English by Bamabe Googe, 
1560-65) and the writings of George Buchanan. And again, in 1660, Charles 
Hoole in his New Discovery of the Old Art of Teaching School suggests Mantuan 
for the third form and Sedulius for the fourth ; but in his list of authors the list 
has become almost entirely classical, and all other authors are subsidiary or 
preparative to knowledge of the old Roman writers. 


358 The GentUmaiis Magaziiu, 

and to a great extent to that of John Amos Comenius. But they are 
nearer to the mediieval Vergilian tradidon, the strength of which we 
recognise in Dante, and the extent and depth of which we have had 
laid before us with incomparahle illustration and lucidity by Frofessor 

Unless we recognise the fact that in the fifteenth and sixteenth 
centuries the schoolmasters by no means welcomed the classical 
Latin writers with unanimity, or even with widespread goodwill, 
it will be difficult to understand the high popularity of Baptista 
Mantuan. But, given the fact that Vergil was in such renown, though 
his works were not read, that there was a strong ambition to obtain 
a classical style whilst there was an equally strong disinclination 
to acknowledge, and to parley with, the pagan deities of classicism, 
given these facts, and we can at once see that there was a place for 
an alter Mara to arise. Though by the year 1500 Lactantius, 
Frudentius, Sedulius, Juvencus, and Proba had attained an attractive 
antiquity, yet they did not belong to the genuine classical pagan 
authors of the Augustan Age. There was room for a writer who 
should arise with more freshness of subject-matter, more alive to 
the change of thought and form which had taken place in the 
intervening thousand years, and who should at the same time not 
have passed outside of the Vergilian atmosphere. 

It is true there was an alternative, viz. a frank return to the 
writers of antiquity, such as the Italian Renascence favoured and 
finally established. But Huss, and Jerome of Prague, and Wiclif, 
and for that matter many of the more orthodox clergy had insisted 
on religious education, especially in the northern countries of Europe. 
The pagan element in the Renascence, roughly speaking, found acqui- 
escence only with the Italians, and here again only with a certain 

BapHsta Mantuan^ Cutkolic Puritan. 259 

doctrine our Englishmen fetch out of Italy. For finding no other 
there, they can bring no other hither." It is true Ascham admits 
that he has known some noble Englishmen whom all the siren songs 
of Italy could never untwine from the mast of God's word. But 
such instances, he hints, were more than counterbalanced by those 
caught by Circe's wiles. 

If then, even in 1570, and from a man so favourable to classicism 
as Ascham, the Renascence tendencies to an undervaluing of the 
supreme importance of religion, as seen in the country where 
classicism was most flourishing, were duly condemned we may well 
doubt whether the Renascence (as recognised by us in the light of 
later developments) was of wide-reaching influence in the school-room 
between 1500 and 1570, either in England or elsewhere. The great 
Renascence scholars, with the single exception, in Italy, of Vittorino 
da Feltre, who was of the noblest and purest of classical scholars, and 
at the same time a pious and sincere Christian, were not interested in 
the practical work of school-teaching. The torch of classical culture 
was lit by the teachers of such schools as those of Melanchthon in 
Germany, Sturm at Strassburg, and others whose names are writ large 
in histories of education ; but the culture ideals of any period take at 
least a generation or two to Alter into the schools, and in those inter- 
vening generations the schoolrooms accepted gladly the work of 
Baptista Mantuanus, for the simple reason that his genius, such as it 
was, was not in advance of his age in style, subject-matter, or intel- 
lectual treatment. Mantuan was more intelligible to the ordinary 
mind than Lactantius, Prudentius, Sedulius, Juvencus, and Proba ; 
and although Colet put all these names along with that of Baptista 
Mantuan there is no doubt that, in the first half of the sixteenth 
century, there was no writer whose works were so popular as those 
of Baptista. School education did not receive the full Renascence 
current till the latter part of the sixteenth century. Indeed, it is 
debatable whether schools, in any great degree, can be said 
to have been classical until well on in the seventeenth. 

The sixteenth-century schoolmasters, as a whole, always excepting 
a few brilliant pioneers of reform, were not men of a high intellectual 
type. They were ordinary minds, set to a very ordinary kind of 
work, the teaching of youth. They had read and could understand 
Baptista Mantuan. If he was good enough for them, surely he 
was satisfactory for the schools. 

In truth, he satisfied much more critical minds than those of 
the ordinary schoolmasters. The testimony of Erasmus may be 
adduced to the efiect that there would come a time, in his opinion, 


26o The Gentleman's Magaeiiu. 

iriien Baptista would be put not much below his ancient compatriot 
of Mantua.' Erasmus was severe enoughasa critic at timet, so that 
if he was satisfied with Baptista as a Latin writer no wonder that 
bis contemporaries of lower standing took the same view. 

The best account of Baptista appears in the "Jugemeos des 
Savans sur les Principaux Ouvn^es des Auteurs." • This carefully 
collected biography I take as basis of the following account 
Johannes Baptista Spagnuolo, called Nfantuanus, from the d^ of 
his birth, was bom in 1448, and died in 1516. Trithemius says of 
him that our Mantuan equalled Vergil for verse and Cicero for 
prose, and he doubts even if he has not surpassed the latter. His 
compatriots have claimed to raise him to a degree of glory as high 
as that of Vetgil in erecting a statue of marble crowned with the 
poef s laurel, near to and on an equality with that of the ancient 
prince of poets. 

If the compatriots of Mantuan congratulated themsdves on 
having formed so fine a parallel his co-religionists could not be dis- 
pleased, as they received reflected glory from their head However, 
they have not all appeared equally satisfied, and Peter Lndus 
amongst others has not been able to restrain himself from giving 
vent to pubUc moans of anger and indignation at witnessing the 
temerity of those profane people who had the hardihood to com* 
f>are the pagan poet to the Italian poet, and, what is more, to 
a religious poet such as Spagnuolo, who for this reason alone 
■deserved to have his statue much higher than that of Verpl* 

To say the truth, Lucius would have bad great reason to 
comi^ain of ^tplaisantt injure done to the Mantuan if the statues 
and crowns of the poetic laurel were recompenses established for 
Christians, and if the inhabitants of Mantua bad had the intentioa 

Baptista Mantuan^ Catholic Puntan. 261 

youth are tolerable enough, but that the heat of his imagination being 
abated afterwards his vivacity was dissipated with the first fires of that 
blossoming age. We find in him no longer either force or vigour, 
nor even genius. His vein is quite cooled; it is sluggish, it is 
languishing, and when it makes efforts you will say it is a stream quite 
muddy which overflows and expands by caprice and wanders fix>m 
its bed, not being able to contain itself in its limits. In fact it is not 
possible to read for long the verses that Mantuan has written when 
be was a little advanced in age without falling into disgust and im- 
patience ; and as in the flower of his age he was already deprived of a 
good part of that sense which we call common, as he had from 
that time more complaisance for his own predictions than readiness 
to learn, experienced persons have not appeared surprised to find 
him without solidity of judgment and without any taste for good 
things, since his fire was extinguished, and he had become destitute 
of that brilliance which hid the faults of his youth or which at least 
kept them firom the view of those who were dazzled by them. 

With this notion of Mantuan we ought to be sufficiently prepared,. 
it seems to me, to understand Scaliger^ when he says that he has 
only an efieminate softness which is a veritable languor, that he has 
neither rule nor measure, nor consistency, nor pleasantness, and that 
he is not at all distinguished from the populace of versifiers. He 
avows nevertheless that he does not lack genius, but that art and 
judgment are wanting in him. This brought him to spread out on 
paper everything which the abundance of his brain made him push 
forth without choice, without dbcemment, without method. But 
although the Mantuan had no delicacy of manners, which being joined 
to polish of expression forms that rare quality which is called urbanity^ 
his verses do not escape having their value and use, and, according^ 
to the same critic, he will pass at least for a village poet and will be 
able to please and even be of some utility to rustic minds and to 
simple persons whose sense of poetry is less exacting. 

I don't know if it is in the persons of those last that Erasmus 
wrote to Wimpheling when he bore evidence of strong esteem for 
the verses of Mantuan. I prefer to persuade myself that he was 
only then thinking of lowering MaruUus, or to make it appear that 
the Mantuan is not entirely the worst of poets, since he believed that 
one alone of his hemistichs was preferable to all the Latin verses 
which Marullus had composed.' Paul Jovius' claims that what 

> JttL Caesar Scaliger, Hyptrcrit. seu lib. 6 Poetices, ch. 4, p. 788. 

* DtiitU Erasm. EpisU ad Jacob Wimpluling et ex to G. M. JCanigius^ 
Biblwik. V(f/. et Nov. p. 504. 

* Ptal Jov. Elag, No. 61, pp. 141-3. 

a62 The Gentleman's Magazitu. 

damaged the talent of the Mantuan for poetry was nothing else thaa 
an insatiable passion for learning Hebrew joined to an ambition of 
appearing wise in all other subjects of knowledge ; so that ^htnVing 
oi acquiring or maintaining this reputation he was not able to gin 
to poetry all the application which this art demands. He had 
the misfortune to appear in a century and countiy where they did 
not any longer pay much honour to mediocre poets. But having 
found so bad a versifier as he, which was not a great consideration 
with the great captain Gonsalvo, Viceroy of Naples, he profited by 
the advantage which it gave him and the disgrace which came to 
coimoisseurs in " La Gonsalvie " ' — that is to say to the four books 
of the poem which that author called " Baptiste de Cantalice " had 
made in honour of Gonsalvo. In fact Paul Jovius remarks that the 
ill-success of that work caused eyes to be turned on the Mantuan, 
and that he advanced himself in credit at the expense of Cantalicio. 

Paul Jovius says, nevertheless, that Gonsalvo was very pleased 
with Cantalice and recompensed him magnificently. He only gives 
it to be understood that Mantuan, who undertook to treat the same 
subject, had not much difficulty in carrying ofi' the advantage in such 
a competition. 

This good fortune only remained for Mantuan till the two com- 
petitors were stopped and beaten by a third, who was Peter Gtavina, 
and who in the judgment of Jovianus Ponunus and Saanazar effaced 
the glory which these two poets pritendus had acquired with so 
little cosL 

But if there is no poetic art to praise in the Mantuan we can 
at least esteem the piety and zeal which he has shown in some of 
his pieces for la dhdplitu talhiastiqut, the service and the glory 
of God. Nevertheless, M. de Clavigny de Sainte-Honorine * writes 

Baptiiia Maniuan, Catholic Putiian. 263 


I^^HB that of Sotomajor ; and the Kings of Spain " Index " contents 
itself with saying thai it is necessary to efface in the third book of 
the " Alphonse " of our poet, where he describes the infernal regions, 
all that there is from " Hie pendebat adhuc " to " Pontificalis." 

The Reticence which Baillet shows in giving the beginning and 
the end only of this quotation is not observed in an English author 
named Simon Birkbeck, " Bachelor in Divinitie, sometime Fellow of 
Queen's College in Oxford, and now Minister of God's Word at 
Gilling, in Richmondshire," who in 1635 published the " Protestant's 
Evidence, taken out of Good Records ; showing that for fifteen 
hundred years next after Christ divers Worthy Guides of God's 
Church have in sundry weighty points of Religion taught as the 
Church of England now doth." ' 

Besides the passage quoted below Birkbeck gives others from 
Maotuan to show that he is " very sharp against the Romanists." 
He writes a passage in which Baptista protests against the venality 
of the Church,* He gives a passage which describes Hilary, Bishop 
of Poitiers, an ecclesiastic who was married.' Further, he remarks : 

' This book is divided into sixicen sections, each section coveting a 00111117, 
and contains lestimony from wrilets in each ccnluiy against doctrines and 
practices of the Roman Church, It is the result of great industry of eolleciion. 
It has, indeed, passed into oblivion. For my copy I gave, I believe, twopence. 
No wonder theSpuiish " Indei" condemned Mantuati's lines quoted by Biikbeck. 
They w«c these : 

" Hie pendebat adhuc, Miam mentita viritem, 
Ficmint, cui triplici Phrygram diademate milram 
extollebat apex, et PontilicBliE adultcT." 

Lib. iii. In Alfonso, p. 36, 

I qucMc ihetn because it would appear that there could hardly be a stioitger 

upiment m to the high teputaiiun that Mantuan enjoyed than the fact that he 

c«utd write Meh words, and not be t>tought to task, and to ruin, by the power 

of Rome, bu dealing with such rumours, founded or unfounded. I may add that 

K.eieh it; hi« Mtligien and Ijaming, published in 1663, lays of Mantuan : 
□ gricvmisly acciucth the Church of Rome." 
" Tyrii Testes ; venalia nobis, 
Tcmpla, Sacerdote^, Allaris, Sacra, Corona, 
Ignis, Thura, Ptectu ; Caelum est venalc, Deusque." 
last phrase, Birkbeck natvcly says, " whereby he (haply) meant tHeic 
)od in the Miss." But Birkbeck forgets that Baptiam was a cnnfunning 
II Cathalic. 

1 • " Non nocuit liW progeniet, noo obstitit uior, 

\ Legitimo conjuDcta thoio, non horniit ilia 

Tempestale Deus thalamus, connubia, tonlas." 
Of oonrae the pasnge is descriptive, but Birkbeck does not realise that il cannot 
be (jooted ai expcetsive of Mantoaa's view ai to the marriage of the cletgj. 

364 "^^ G€*Uemutis Mmgasiiu, 

"The sunt SiUssas g=aivTwti u tbeir nuDDei of soch jN'^iunt 
repetitions, as tbey usee i= Thar fnjtxs, as if God were served bj 
reckoning up tbdr mnaaii^ open a pair of beads. " ^ 

Tbe bet emugcs iLai "*<"""* was od the side of refoim rrom 
within the Chuich. He is to be c:lx£sed irith CoW, with Lupset, 
with Sir Thomas More, with Erasmus. He is, as I have said, a 
Catholic Puritan. By 1635, bowerer, wc see that he was r^arded 
as "very sharp against the Romanists," and so implicitly identified 
with Protestantism. 

Though such a view shows bad history on the part of Smon 
Ilirlcbcck it is instructive in explaining tbe popularity of Baptisla 
Mantuan. He provokes the sympathy of those who, like Colet and 
Erasmus, wished for a purified and rationalised Church of Rome, nor 
have the Protestant revolutionists any hesitation in accepting him as 
one with themselves in protesting against the abuses of the old 
Church. I'he religious controversies of his age and the succeeding 
ngc fought in their courses in &vour of Mantuan. He was, indeed, 
txirn under a fortunate sUr. Such appears to me to be the real 
liasi) of Maniuan's general popularity. As to the actual merits 
tif his works, tlicru is much difference of opinion. Two of the 
most iiiiiK)ri:int criticisms on Mantuan are those of Lilius Gregorins 
CiirtUUis, written about 1548-50, in the " De Poelis Nostronim 
TcmiHiniin,"* and in the preface to Thomas Famaby's edition of 
Mititiul's ('iiitfranis, 1615, Giraldus says: " I praise his arrangement 
and puiiHtsc, hut ho was rather an extemporary than a mature poet 
rhi'tf aic innumerable verses of this author, from which he 
hit> tv>-(-iv(-il such hi(;h praise amongst the people and some 
lidilMi)iun» ihdt ht- is held by one as near to and by another as quite 
A m\>uhI \\if,\\. llul, t;ood God ! what a difference of genius 1 For 

Baptista Mantuan^ Catholic Puritan. 265 

fitvourable to Mantuan. Perhaps it might be argued that the very 
serious tone of his critidsm shows in itself how deep a hold 
Mantuan had on Famaby's contemporaries. After discussing ^ the 
various attitudes of the learned towards poets Famaby continues : 
" Others, again, to come down to my own arena and to the little 
men of my own order (schoolmasters), due respect always being 
paid to the learned and the men of merit amongst us, whom no man 
venerates more than I, do not agree with the opinion of Petronius 
Arbiter, who says that the mind of the nobler class of poet does not 
love sanity. For the mind can neither conceive nor bring forth its 
offspring unless a great flood of learning (literarum) overwhelms it 
Nor can they be induced to study the poets of the higher order, 
though there is the authority of Seneca for maintaining that mortal 
lips cannot pour forth magnificent song, unless they despise the 
vulgar and common, and rise by a holy instinct to the greater 
heights. To use the words of the same Arbiter, as soon as each has 
got his lines into meter and interwoven the sense with a rhetorical 
period of softer words ^ they straightway think they have reached 
Helicon. Why, indeed, have they not reached it ? For to these petty 
pedagogues 'Fauste precor gelida ' ' sounds loftier than ' Arma virum- 
que cano,' and all elegiacs are dumb if confronted with ' Qui mihi 
disdpulus.' " Farnaby maintains that it is no answer to say that the 
great poets are obscure ; for probably the fault is in oneself, and they 
may become familiar and clear by study, especially with the help of 
commentators. Not even the strong protesting outburst of Mantuan 
against corruption in the Church of Rome can save him from 
the castigation of Giraldus and Farnaby. For these were pure 
classicists. But classical scholarship never was, and could not be 
even in the sixteenth or the seventeenth century, a spirit which 
penetrated deeply into the popular consciousness. The people and 
the schoolmasters preferred Mantuan to Giraldus and to Famaby. 
Whether it was in good taste or bad taste, he appealed to them 
more closely than did the spirit of pure classicism itself. 


' In the Latin prefiice to Martial's Epigrammata^ 1644* 

* << Teneriore ambitu verborum." 

* f.<. the first line of Mantuan's first eclogue. 


i sev JE±ie X ix 

',f:J- "z^ L.irri'.TT'Lr^ V: r':'=ii — . v^j zi'iw ztst- apiL imii :3e ae of 

mil us * J""*: H::;i2^: "■.■.~:^ = ^roi — -g-amTT-f ' wV*^ in 

-^.^pri: --Tie = -r^ =e n r.';=T=: 5'^ mc le jnd has »o«k 
tt4,-<l. '''-r '.-.a: >s-i;c i.3:-:s x,:.T-t I:: ^m x^ 'itnc'-in ■■-' -■■ « «e 
-Ji--* 1 :-.-;nrj ^>iu*— i-.r •"!= i ssi: jt nn-ssc it ^m^ ax ven^ 
-.-T v, Tit^i.-:!! «: ▼'il tmwT. ~: =:J: L I icisac* rtaSocaaet. botve 

'/ p<:-'.'-''-anr,n, ir.ii .: ':ii3 tr-y itec Trsnei j: lecax nan. We 

f.-.frjrwr.'. -\ J -t:-«i •^"' ' f" i-'cn: r»- = Jes ccm Fi "I'^t hi. in dte 
East 'fJir^ 'A V-^nLtb-rt. T^cr; i;^ 3es: itsilT bed an eaue far 
rjt*.'-.,. 1 c'.p'ji 01 cir.r.r.-s. Ti:-: i-tiir ci ±e - Fann Book'' or 
"V.ra; Pyy^wjiiiy, ' »-"a dtii ir. 1^45. ipoears to hAT« been a 
*.';''/>r; -fcl t^rK.iir-rLst. Cor.'.n.-7 10 Tusaer, be was able to make 

A Seventeenth-century Farm Book. 267 

employed with the plough. We are accustomed to associate their use 
in this manner with mediaeval England ; the ploughing ox stands as 
the symbol for January on the old Anglo-Saxon calendar. Thus 
yoked, they are a sight ^miliar enough yet on the Continent, just as 
fibred in the lovely sculptures of Giotto's campanile at Florence, 
or on the fa9ade of the cathedral at Lucca. According to one 
authority, practically all the hard work of the farm was done by them 
in East Yorkshire until nearly the close of the eighteenth century ; 
and they did not fall into total disuse until about 1840. A few years 
agOy there were old men living in out-of-the-way parts of the country 
who could remember having used the goad in their youth to urge on 
the oxen at their work. In the days of the Stuarts, the farmer boy 
who went with the ox-plough, we learn from Henry Best, received 
from twenty shillings to four nobles per year wages, with sixpence 
for GodVpenny, and sometimes a pair of old breeches thrown in. 

It appears to have been quite the recognised custom that the 
cast off clothing of the household should be shared among the 
servants. Hence we are told that " servants at banning condition 
to have an olde suit, a payre of breeches, an old hatte, or a payre of 
shoes ; and mayde servants to have an apron or smocke, or both." 
Certainly wages were not extravagant Amongst those who " lived 
in," the foreman, the best paid man, only received the remuneration 
of five marks per annum, with two shillings to two shillings and six- 
pence for God's-penny. At the time of writing the wages of female 
servants had advanced in recent days very considerably. " We were 
wont,'' our author says, "that we could hire them for eighteen 
shillings per annum, but now of late we cannot hire a lusty mayde 
under twenty-four shillings wages, and sometimes twenty-eight 
shillings." The additional bonus of the "God's penny" almost 
invariably figures in the remuneration received. In the case of the 
maids it was one shilling and sixpence to two shillings per year. 

As is still the rule in East Yorkshire, the servants, male and 
female, were hired at Martinmas. The constables of the different 
villages a short time previously to the " hirings " made up lists of 
those who would be at liberty, and of the masters who had need of 
fresh hands, so that none could leave or be hired afresh unless they 
were actually free from their last engagements. We have many 
quaint and curious entries on this subject, and much of worldly 
wisdom. " In hiring of mayde servants," we are told, " you are to 
make choice of such as are good milkers, and have care of such as 
are of a sluggish and sleepie disposition, for danger of fire ; and 
never to hire such as are too near their friends, for occasion is said to 


Tk* GtrntUmoM^s Mapume. 

mke a Aie^ and hang hiiedyaa tic not to connitaver macfa to 

u 70a can imder )odkc and \ej' 

The male Kmnt was ezpeoedto bea "famdi'Btn.' Botaf^ 
"I heard a Kmnt asked wliat be GOold do^ who made ann>a : 



Nowadays the &nn serrant geaotaOr takes his full wed holid^ at 
Mafrinma. but then, ^ppueotly, be was content with two or thiee 
d^ spent with his friends, usually lamng his place the ** fourth d^ 
after Maittnmas." The custom was to go on a Tuesday, or on a 
Thmsday when possible, seldom on Sunday ; and as for Hooday, it 
was Rgaided as a day of ill omen, our author quotii^ the old couple^ 

Of course many of the hands employed were not r^olar wnken on 
the Cum, the thatcher being amongst them. The picturesque cottage 
ro<rfied with thatch, dotted over with house-leek and gtdden mosi^ 
and with walls and windows embowered in roses and booqmudle^ 
has not yet totally disappeared in East Yoikshire, but we fear die 
time is not so very remote when it will have been impmred away, 
and the thatcher's art foigotten. In Best's days the tK«t«:*»fft- wu 
still a worker of importance in the rutal economy. His i 
amongst his feUows was " Hangstnwe," and the fUk, in jei 

A Seventeenth-century Farm Book. 269 

manner, as we learn from our author. Their wages were fourpence 
per diem and their meat. Lately, however, the cobbler had been 
receiving sixpence per day, on account of the advance in the price of 
"capping leather," which together with thread he had to find. The 
wright or carpenter was paid tenpence per day, if he found himself, 
otherwise sixpence per dUm and his meat Mowers at hay and harvest 
time were similarly paid. Gardeners had sevenpence per day. 

Seeing that Best's " Farm Book " is a practical business man's 
compilation we do not look for much information to be obtained 
therein with regard to the more festive side of life, and the 
amusements of the times. But even here the writer affords us 
certain side-lights. On the neighbouring estate of Watton they had 
a great sheep-shearing day, and amongst other items, we are told it 
was customary to allow sixpence for a piper to play to the clippers all 
the day. Everybody is familiar with Shakespeare's 

Drone of a Lincokishire bagpipe, 

but this is a very late notice of the bagpipe in East Yorkshire. We 
presume he would pipe them " merry " tunes, and so they would work 
away in like manner. 

From a social point of view one of the most interesting entries 
in the volume is the short chapter on "Fashions at our Country 
Weddings." There is a delightful old-world flavour about it, and it 
is worthy of being quoted at length. Curiously it comes in the book 
between a chapter on " Hiring and Lodging of Moor Folk " and 
another '* Concerning Beasts." Evidently our author did not trouble 
himself much about the order of his entries. 

"Usually," says he, "the young man's father or he himself writes 
to the mayd to knowe if he shall be welcome to the house. If the 
notion be thought well of, then the young man goeth perhaps twice 
to see how the mayd standeth affected. Then if he see she be 
tractable and that her inclination is towards him, then the third time 
that he visiteth, he perhaps giveth her a ten shilling piece of gold, or 
a ring of that price, or perhaps a twenty shilling piece or a ring of 
that price. Then the next time, or next after]that, a payre of gloves 
of 6 J. M, or I or. a payre, and afler that each time some conceited 
toy or novelty of less value. They visit usually every three weeks 
or a month, and are usually halfe a year or very neare from the first 
going to the conclusion." 

" Soe soone as the young folks are agreed and contracted, then 
the father of the mayd carrieth her over to the young mannes home 
to see how they like, and there doth the young mannes father treat 

270 The GentlemoH's Magaiitu. 

of a dower, and likewise of a jointure, and alsoe appointe and act 
down the day of marriage, which may perhaps be aboutea fortniglite 
or three weeks after. In that time do they get made the wedding 
clothes, and make provision against the wedding dinner, which it 
usually att the mayd's father's. Their use is to buy gloves to give to 
each of the friends a payre on that day ; the manne should be att dw 
cost of them, but some times the manne gives gloves to the menne, 
and the woman to the women. They give them that morning when 
they are almost ready to goe to church to be marryed." 

" Then soe scone as the bride is tyred, and that they are ready to 
goe forth the bridegroom comes and takes her by the haode^ and 
sayth, Mislrtii, I hope you are willing, or else he kisseth her before 
them, and then followeth her father out of the do«. Then 
one of the brid^room's men ushereth the bride and goeth fore- 
most, and the rest of the young men usher each of them a jaaag 
mayd to church. The brid^room, and the bride's brothers or 
Mends tende att dinner. He perhaps fetcheth her home to his house 
about a month after, and the portion is paid that time she goeth 
away." These were evidently pre-honeymoon days, or at any rate it 
was spent at home. 

Wth wheat as high as 351. per quarter, as we learn from our 
author, and even skilled workmen receiving only a few pence per 
day wf^es, it is needless to say that the labourii^; classes had, at that 
period, to rest content with coarse fare. The servants of the 
Elmswell household used brown bread made ^m meal, which was 
a mixture one-third each of rye, pease, and barley. The memben 
of the family themselves had their pies niade from flour of the best 
wheat, but the men had to be satisfied with puddings of barley meaL 
White bread was in those days reserved for special fertive o 

A Seventeenth-century Farm Book. 271 

for the dinner of the farmer and his family The Manor house sent 
their own com to the mill to be ground; evidently, however, the 
miller, in Best's opinion, was a person who required to be well 
watched. As in the days of Chaucer, he does not appear to have 
been above suspicion, if we may judge by the methods adopted by 
oar author to prevent malfeasance. 

The affairs of the farm and household were conducted on careful 
and economical lines. Its items of expenditure would appear 
ridiculously small when compared with modem times, if we 
did not remember the relative value of money two and a half 
centuries ago. When the servants went to the Beverley market on 
Wednesday, they paid a half-penny each for putting up their horses, 
that is, for hay and stable room ; but on Saturday, when they usually 
dined at the inn, they got their stable room for nothing. Fourpence 
each was allowed the men for their dinners. In addition to this, 
sometimes those who bought com from them made them spend a 
penny or twopence, for "beneficial to the house," wherein they 

The Best papers afford a number of old time cures for various ills 
to which the flesh is heir. For pimples on the face, you had to take 
the leather of a shoe that had been worn, being of ox hide, and 
having burnt it, apply the same to the pimples, and they would be 
cured. For deafness you were to use the suet or marrow of an ox 
mingled with goose grease, pouring it into the ear. A specific for 
chest worms was to give the childjmare's milk, and it would be made 
to " throw them up at the mouth." For pains in the stomach and 
at the heart, the remedy was a pint of Bordeaux vinegar, a quarter of 
a pound of white sugar candy, and a pennyworth of licorice and 
aniseeds. The latter were to be placed in a lawn cloth, the vinegar was 
to be boiled until they were half wasted, and then you had to strain ; 
the sugar candy now was added, and you had to " lick as a sinop." 

There are some shallow critics who to-day make merry at the 
expense of the farmer's daughter, saying she neglects her dairy, and 
gives her attention rather to the pianoforte. But we are fairly justi- 
fied in assuming that even in the seventeenth century music and 
a conscientious attention to home duties were not considered 
irreconcilable. We have not a full inventory of the household 
effects which Henry Best left behind him at his death in 1645, but 
the Manor, on his decease, passed into the hands of his eldest son, 
who in turn died in 1668, and amongst the goods which he possessed 
was a pair of old virginals. So the modem farmer's daughter who 
plays the piano is perhaps not so decadent after all. 



Tk$ Gtnilema^s Magnum*. 


IN the old churdiyard xx Edmonton, ck»e to the pathmy dut 
skim the graves, stands a headstone often sought by men and 
women who cherish the memory of Charles I^mb. One aftemoon, 
in the winter of 1334, Lamb pointed out that spot as one where he 
could wish to he, and there, on a Saturday about three weeks latei^ 
he was laid to rest in a deep grave, as TaUourd tells us. Close by, 
you may still see the small house in Church Street where Lamb lodged 
with " Mr. Walden and his wife, who take in patimts, and have 
ananged to lod^e and board us only," and from whidi he was carried 
to his burial. The house, wice L«mb came into the full inheritance 
of his fame, has borne the name "Lamb's Cottage"; it has beeo 
admirabl}- sketched by Mr. Herbert Railton. Recently, wlien linger- 
ing by the tall gate that opens towards the garden, I detennined to 
set down a few stray thoughts and im[»e5sions concerning one irtw, 
known among his contemporaries as a BIue<xxit boy, as Chirks 
Lamb of the India House, as " the supoannuated man," is to-day 
remembered as the friend of Coleridge, of Hazlitt, of Leigh Hunt, of 
Wordsworth ; as the " greatest of English prose humorists since the 
days of Addison." Too often, in the world of literature — when, for 

Charles Lamb Once More. 273 

puts it, the water very near the eyes. I could no more write of it 
flippantly than I could write Qipp^uitly of Johnson's letter to 
Chesterfield, or of the last chapters of Carlyle's "Sterling," For to 
read that paper is to enter into the very sanctuary of Lamb's presence. 
To know something, ah exira^ concerning his mood when he penned 
*' Dream-Children," we look forward three months from the date of 
its publication, to a letter written to Wordsworth on March 20. He 
there wrote of "a certain deadness to everything, which I think I 
may date from poor John's loss . . • Deaths overset one and put 
one out, long after the recent grief. Two or three have died within 
the last two twelvemonths, and so many parts of me have been 
numbed . . . Every departure destroys a class of sympathies. The 
going away of friends does not make the remainder more precious. 
My theory is to enjoy life, but my practice is against it. Oh for a 
few years between the grave and the desk ! " There is zdeprofundis 
note here which it is impossible to ignore. It helps us to realise 
how " Dream-Children " came to be written. We think of Lamb as 
one whose spirit was at once great and gentle, one who, at forty-seven 
years of age, having by recent events felt keenly what was^ weaved 
bx posterity that exquisite prose-fancy, that wholly unique essay in 
imaginative retrospect, the dream-reverie of what might have been. 

In that essay — so clearly conceived, so deftly phrased, so pathetic 
in tone — Lamb imagined how, one evening, his children, Alice and 
John, came round him to hear of their great-grandmother, the good, 
religious Mrs. Field, who knew by heart the Psalter and much of 
the Testament, and to whose memory he had actually written some 
of his best verses. Once kindled, the fancy recalled many early 
memories — the old house at Blakesware in Hertfordshire, with its 
busts of the twelve imperial Csesars, its spacious gardens, its haunted 
staircase ; the glances, " too tender to be called upbraiding," of fair 

Alice W n, whom, in alternate hope and despair, he had courted 

for seven long years. In fact, the essay touches upon just such 
incidents as Lamb would surely have loved to narrate to a veritable 
Alice and John, had the lines of life fallen unto him in more pleasant 
places — in other words, had he married the fair-haired Hertfordshire 
lass whom he loved so dearly. But it was not to be. In the earliest 
of some six hundred of his letters, gradually collected by men who 
love his memory, Lamb wrote to Coleridge, " The six weeks that 
finished last year and began this, your very humble servant spent 
very agreeably in a mad-house, at Hoxton . . . Coleridge, it may con- 
vince you of my regard for you when I tell you my head ran on you 
in my madness, as much almost as on another person, who I am 

VOL. CCXCVII. NO. 2085. jj 

374 "^^ GentUmatis Magasine. 

inclined to think was the more immediate cause of my temporaiy 
frenzy." What is loss to the individual is sometimes gain to the 
world. Had Lamb married Ann Simmons of Widford ; had he 
known the sweets of home where "little footsteps lightly print the 
ground " ; had "Alice " and "John" indeed been bis joy in middle 
life and his solace in the evening of his days, the Essays of Elia might 
never have been penned. He m^ht have exhausted, in the service 
of the more exacting domesticities, those creative powers and that 
fund of humour which we readers, wise after the event, feel certain 
were " meant for mankind." 


Mankind are to-day more deeply interested in the life and 
writings of Lamb than at any period since his death. Those who 
cherish his memory as they cherish the memory of no other English 
writer have searched, with exemplary diligence, for further records of 
his life. That search has been crowned with a large measure of 
success. We now know much concerning him which Talfoucd did not 
know or forbore to relate. We onceknewLambasinaglass, daiUy; 
we now almost persuade ourselves that we have seen him face to 
face. So truly is this the case that it is still possible to say something 
of interest, in the pages of a magazine, concerning the man or his 
writings. For myself, I essay to do so the more readily because my 
personal interest in Lamb's many editors is purely literary. I am 
indebted to them all — to every scholarly Elian who corrects my 
understanding of a passage, to every biographer who traces Lamb's 
footsteps more surely than they have been traced before: 

Now, singularly enough, immediately after my promise to write 
this paper, there appeared in the "Comhill Magazine" an article 

Charles Lamb Once More. 275 

ledge of the man Charles Lamb. Rather than rejoice that he was 
contemptible in the eyes of a great, albeit harsh, ill-balanced con- 
temporary, I rejoice at every step taken by Canon Ainger, or any 
other, to investigate the story of Lamb's life, especially when those 
investigations reveal something fresh concerning his 

« little, nameless, unremembered acts 
Of kindness and of love." 

Canon Ainger states that in the summer of 188 1, having obtained 
an introduction to the rector of Widford, he drove from Ware to that 
pleasant little Hertfordshire village. As it chanced, the rector was 
absent, but an interview with Mrs. Arthur Tween, "a very elderly 
lady," led to fortunate if unexpected results. For Mrs. Tween had 
known Charles and Mary Lamb in the flesh — had, indeed, known 
them and their circumstances so intimately that, although at first 
somewhat reticent towards her visitor, she conversed readily enough 
when she heard that he was connected with the Temple Church. 
She was, as it presently appeared, herself bom in the Temple ; more- 
over, her father's name was none other than Randal Norris, It is 
not surprising to read that the old lady's eyes were filled with tears 
when Canon Ainger, recollecting the letter penned by Lamb to 
Coleridge on October 3, 1796, quoted aloud, '' Mr. Norris has been 
as a father to me ; Mrs. Norris as a mother." ^ The wife of Randal 
Norris was a native of Widford ; hence, when quitting the Temple, 
the family turned to Hertfordshire for a home. The two daughters 
were married to brothers of the name of Tween; friendship with 
Charles and Mary was still fostered, and Canon Ainger was told how 
Charles would walk over from Enfield with Emma Isola — he was 
shown, indeed, the room in which Lamb slept. But the crowning 
discovery, from the standpoint of Lamb's biographer, was to come. 
Questioned concerning the identity of " Alice W.," the " Anna " of the 
sonnets, Mrs. Tween replied readily that her name was Nancy 
Simmons — more correctly Ann Simmons — that she lived in a 
cottage called " Blenheims," and had a sister named Maria. Ann 
married " Mr. Bartram, a silversmith, of Princes Street, Soho." She 
bore her husband three daughters and one son. The gist of these 
discoveries has been embodied in other essays by Canon Ainger as 
by less authoritative writers, but only lately have we thus learned how 

* The passage referred to runs thus : <* Mr. Norris, of Christ's Hospital, has 
been as a father to me — Mrs. Norris as a mother ; though we had few claims on 
them." It b hardly necessary to explain that Lamb refers to the conduct of those 
excellent friends when his mother was killed by his sister Mary "in a fit of 

376 The Gtniieman's Me^wmu. 

we cuoe by our knowledge. A few fbrtiinite persons did indeed 
fijrestoU OUT pleasure, for the story took the shape of a lecture 
written about nine years 1^0. 

"The children of Alice caU Bartram &ther." Canon Aingei, 
as he listened to good Mrs. Tween, mif^t have exclaimed witb 
Fit! James in the poem, "the riddle is already read." He must 
surely have afterwards re-read " Dream-Children " with renewed 
interest and with a deepened sense of its pathos. Before he 
}oumeyed thus to Widford in Hertfordshire, he might have supposed, 
in common with other readers, that that brief, beautiful essay was not 
untouched by the imp of mystification, whose fingers were so often 
laid upon the letters and essays of Lamb. Indeed, there is cause kg 
no small astonishment when we remember for how long the story of 
Lamb's love eluded our knowledge, even^ now impeifecL Talfourd'i 
bold statement served only as a delusion and a snare, nor is it easy 
to believe that it was writtten entirely in good &ith. " A youthfiil 
passion which lasted only a few months, and which he afterwards 
attempted to regard l^hUy as a folly past, inspired a few sormets of 
very delicate feeling and exquisite music." This, and a passing 
reference to the "fair-haired maid " in the " Final Memorials," was 
what Talfourd knew, or thought it prudent to divulge, concerning an 
attachment which almost certainly influenced the whole of Lamb's 
subsequent life. How lasting that attachment was and how deep its 
influence we shall, I hope, learn more fiilly on the publication of 
the " Life" which Mr. E. V. Lucas is preparing. We have yet to 
reap the benefit of his Ubours — a benefit that will surely be greaL 
Mr. Lucas may have cards up his sleeve. I, at least, shall be sorely 
disappointed should it appear that he has merely shuffled once 
again the cards already dealt by others. 

Charles Lamb Once More. 277 

the feult was not Lamb's. How this statement had been hitherto 
regarded by even Mr. Macdonald himself, who is deeply conversant 
with the whole carpus of *' Lambiana," we may gather from his notes 

to " Barbara S " written prior to his discovery : " If truthfulness 

of disposition and habit could saf(^uard a woman from lying when a 
great idea out of the past presented itself to her imagination, we 
should accept Miss Kelly's confidence in r^;ard to this delicate 
matter with implicit faith. But human nature being what it is, and 
all good women romantic, we pay the sweetness of her nature the 
higher compliment of believing that she dreamt it, in the long day- 
dream of age and memory and happy thoughts." 

It was, perhaps, natural that such a hint of what might have been, 
uttered by an ^actress when the shadows were lengthening on life's 
pathway, received but small credence in the absence of more sub- 
stantial proofs. But the proof is now in our hands ; and it is difficult 
to decide which to admire the more — the delicate manner in which 
Lamb penned his proposal or the kindly tone of the refusal which his 
letter elicited. The correspondence is now a matter of common 
knowledge, and the incident is here alluded to chiefly on account of 
Mr. Macdonald's remarkable experience in regard thereto. It furnishes 
an admirable object lesson in the art of reading between the lines, an 
art easily abused, but very profitable when exercised with discretion. 
The several passages which, taken collectively, seemed to Mr. Mac- 
donald to furnish proof that Lamb had offered to marry Miss Kelly 
are found in three brief papers entitled respectively "The Jovial Crew," 
"The Hypocrite," and "New Pieces at the Lyceum." The papers, 
in the shape of dramatic criticisms, were contributed by Lamb to 
the " Examiner." The first bears date July 4 ; the second, August 2 ; 
the third, August (no day specified); all three in the year 18 19. 
Those papers contain the following passages, referring (i) to Miss 
Kelly's appearance as Rachel in " The Jovial Crew " at the English 
Opera, and (2) to her appearance as Charlotte in "The Hypocrite"; 
the third passage explains itself : 

(i) "But the * Princess of Mumpers' and *Lady Paramount,' 
of beggarly counterfeit accents, was she that played * Rachel.' Her 
gabbling lachrymose petitions ; her tones, such as we have heard by 
the side of old woods, when an irresistible face has come peeping on 
one on a sudden ; with her full black locks, and a voice — how shall 
we describe it ? — a voice that was by nature meant to convey nothing 
but truth' and goodness, but warped by circumstance into an assurance 
that she is telling us a lie — that catching twitch of the thieving 
irreprovable finger — those ballad-singer's notes, so vulgar 

278 The GetUiemoM's Mei^usint, 

unvulgar — that assurance, so like impudence, and yet so many 
countless leagues removed from it — hei jeers, which we had lathet 
stand, than be caressed with other ladies' compliments, a summer*! 
day long — her liacc^ with a wild out-of-doors grace upon it. ' What 
a lass that were,' said a strai^a who sat beside us ... 'to go 
a-gipsying through the world with.' We confess we longed to drop a 
tester in her lap, she begged so masterly." 

(3) " Miss Kelly is not quite at home in *' Charlotte " ; she is too 
good for such parts. Her cue is to be natural ; she cannot put in the 
modes of artificial life, and pUy the coquette as it is expected to be 
played. There is a frankness in her tones which defeats her purpose ; 
we could not help wondering why her lover (Mr. Peannan) looked so 
rueful \ we forgot that she was acting airs and graces, as she seemed 
to forget it herself, turning them into a playfulness which could 
breed no doubt for a moment which way her incUnatioas ran . She 
is in truth not fmmed to tease or torment even in jes^ but to utter « 
hearty Yaoi No; to yield or refuse consent with a noble sinceril;. 
We have not the pleasure of b^g acquainted with her, but we have 
been told that she carries the same cordial manners into private life. 
We have heard, too, of some virtues which she is in the practice of ; 
but they are of a description which repay themselves, and with them 
neither we nor the public have anything to da" 

{3) " Miss Kelly we do not care to say anything about, becatise we 
have been accused of flattering her. The truth is, this lady puts so 
much intelligence and good sense into every part which she plays 
that there is no expressing an honest sense of her merits, wUhout 
incurring a suspicion of that sort. But what have we to gain by 
praising Miss Kelly ? " 

"What have we to gain by praising Mis* Kelly?" Nothing. 

Charles Lamb Once More. 279 

pens an essay in which he conjures up a very touching picture of 
himself, and of two children who are never to be his, but whom he 
would fain have known and loved. Surely it would have been but 
natural if, with his recent disappointment fresh in his memory, he 
had thought of " Alice " and " John " as children of Fanny Kelly. 
But he did not thus imagine them ; his thoughts reached " other- 
where." They carried him back to those far-off days when " in hope 
sometimes, sometimes in despair, yet persisting ever," he nurtured 
his love for Nancy Simmons of Widford, who had since borne children 
to another. By one of those mental processes familiar to us all, his 
recent attachment was forgotten, the inner chambers of the memory 
were opened, and he was a youth again in spirit as he looked upon 
the vision he had summoned and saw, or thought he saw, the tender 
looks, the outspread bands, the little right foot of one " so like my 
Alice." My Alice : the pronoun was penned spontaneously, we may 
well believe; so often had he permitted his fancy to regard her thus. 
Byron, in "Cbilde Harold," speaks of those ''spectres whom no 
exorcism can bind " ; for Lamb no exorcism could bind the spectre 
of Ann Simmons. He himself cells us that, ere he saw the vision, he 
had fallen asleep in his armchair, with Mary beside him, and Mr. 
Brock, who has sympathetically illustrated " Dream-Children," depicts 
him looking towards '' Bridget " as wakefulness returns. The story, 
whether purely mythical or founded on fact, is remarkable when read 
side by side with Talfourd's words concerning a "youthful passion, 
which lasted only a few months," if only because Lamb speaks not 
of a few months but of seven years, and this not of the " passion " — 
surely still nurtured when he wrote " Dream-Children " — but of the 
actual courting. 


The " Essays of Elia " now compete, in number of editions 
and variety of format^ with the "Complete Angler" and the 
" Natural History of Selbome " ; I had almost written the " Pilgrim's 
Progress." Lamb, writing of his own taste in the matter of books, 
tells us that Shaftesbury was not too genteel for him, " nor Jonathan 
Wild too low." One result of such discursive reading was that 
Lamb in turn left writings behind him which, as Mr. Lang says of 
his own " Angling Sketches," " should appeal to many sympathies." 
It is surely a pleasing sign of the times that an edition of the 
" Essays of Elia," sold by Mr. Grant Richards for one shilling, has 
reached its fourth impression; and that pleasure is enhanced by 
the (act that two elaborate editions of the entire extant works have 

28o The GetUkmatis Me^tmiu. 

recently been published in London. Both tliefe editioiu hna 
elicited almost unreserved commendation ; one of them, in twdTC 
volumes, profusely illustrated by portraits and by dainty sketchei 
from the pen of Mr. Brock, is before me as I write. This aitide is 
not a review, or I might say much concerning the peculiar merits of 
such an edition, so light in the hand, so pleadng to the eye, so aue- 
fiilly edited by Mr. William Macdonald. The other edition — super 
vised, literally word for word, by one whose knowledge of I^mb and 
his writings needs no commendation from me — I baveso Carooreted. 
I understand, however, that Mr. Lucas has etplamed all Lunb^ 
allusions, which will provide a very suffident inducement, to all save 
the indifferent or hopelessly illiterate, to examine the result of his 
labours. Such labours must have been immense, and Mr. Lncss, 
when he puts the final touch to the " Life," will surely re-echo the 
sigh of Mr. Swinburne, " ' Jamque opus exegj, ' which I would not 
have undertaken for love of any other man than Lamb." Personally, 
I regard the works of Lamb — the multiform coruscations of his 
playful fancy, the breadth of his sympathies, the excellence of his 
criticisms — as something too great for any single comprehensiCHi less 
gifted than his own ; I had as lief try to ape his finest qualities as to 
explain all his mystifications. In passing, I may express the hope 
that, with his customary good sense, Mr. Lucas has avoided the 
unwise extremes of zealous discipleship, and has shunned such 
textual follies as remind us of those theological misses who know 
how many times the word "straightway" occurs in the gospd of 
St Mark. 

Lamb was one among several authors to whom Stevenson, as 
he himself tells us, played " the sedulous ape," in those early days 
when he kept two books in his pocket, " one to read, one to write 

Charles Lamb Once Mare. 281 

of what is commonly called the '' occasional " essay. Catholicity of 
taste, wide reading, humour, £etculty of apposite allusion and quota- 
tion, which presupposes an almost Magliabechian memory : who is 
sufficient for these things ? The answer, broadly speaking, is not &r 
to seek. Perhaps one man in each generation writes essays well ; 
one man in every two generations shall do it with consummate skill. 
Temple, whom Lamb thought "a model of the genteel style of 
writing," died two hundred years ago, and our really great essayists 
of later date may be told upon the fingers. Hence, as most readers 
will admit, when we place upon our shelves the " Essays of Elia" 
and the collected essays of Stevenson, it is difficult, from the essayists 
who come between them in order of time, to select a third worthy to 
keep them company. If we seek him among Lamb's immediate 
contemporaries, we turn, perhaps, to Hazlitt or Leigh Hunt ; but 
many would deem the first too arbitrary and the second too 
finical ; the place would still be vacant. Well may Mr. Swinburne 
write of the essays and letters of Lamb, " What is there to be said 
but that it would be a feat far easier to surpass all others than to 
approach the best of these ? " 

Few English writers enjoy a more sure immtmity from adverse 
criticism. To point my meaning I may revert once again to Steven- 
son. He, I take it, was at once a shrewd theorist and a facile 
exponent of the arts of literary style ; he spoke with authority when 
he advised others how to write. His most sedulously elaborated 
utterance on the subject of style was contributed to the "Con- 
temporary Review." How many of the canons there laid down are 
observed, except casually, by Lamb? Hardly any ; and perhaps the 
question and answer suggest one of the few ultimate tests of the 
durable quality of authorship. For a great writer, in the last resort, 
is one who can violate with impunity those written and unwritten 
laws which the novice violates at his peril. Is Shakespeare an 
exception to this rule— or Carlyle, or De Quincey, or Macaulay? 
The faults of Macaulay — his rhetorical reiterations, his distasteful 
similes, his lack of spirituality — have been laid bare by such critics 
as Cotter Morison, Leslie Stephen, Lord Acton, and Mr. John 
Morley. The staunchest admirer of the Essays or History has no 
reply to offer ; the charges are so obviously true, so free from such 
bias as is often displayed by smaller men. But we still read the 
Essays and History, and are likely to do so. It is thus with Lamb. 
We admit, with Hazlitt, that Elia is " tenacious of the obscure and 
remote," but we accept that obscurity and remoteness with surprising 
sttis&ction. We know how frequently his preferences are dictated 

282 TA$ Gentletnaiis Magazine. 

by mere whim lather than by the ordered reason ; as Hazlitt again 
puts it, *' It is hard to say whether St John's Gate is connected with 
more intense and authentic associations in his mind, as a part of 
old London Wall, or as the frontispiece (time out of mind) of the 
' Gentleman's Magazine.' " But the associations which he loved are 
loved by us, however oddly they may be suited or for whatever reason 
he cherished them ; nor do we relish his essays the less because he 
is often as wayward and discursive as De Quincey. In other words, 
he is above criticism : he is a maker rather than an observer of 
literary law. Woe to him who aspires to make the laws of Elia his 
own I He will find that he has elected to shoot with a very strong 


Lamb's more obvious shortcomings were engendered by his 
virtues. He was too kind a friend to be a sound critic where the 
writings of his friends were concerned. After a reperusal of many 
of his letters I have asked myself whether, after all, there can be any 
entirely impartial criticism of the writings of those with whom the 
critic has broken bread. If such criticism were possible, we might 
have looked for it from Lamb. But, in point of fact, we have to say 
that Lamb's critical sagacity never OEuled except when he passed 
judgment on the writings of friends who were dear to him — as so 
many were. On such occasions, very frequently, he lavished praise 
which did honour to his heart rather than his head. In 1796 he 
wrote to Coleridge "On the whole, I expect Southey one day to 
rival Milton : I already deem him equal to Cowper, and superior to 
all living poets besides." This praise was elicited by " Joan of Arc," 
on which dust has settled deeply of late — quite as deeply as on 
Falconer's "Shipwreck," almost as deeply as on Glover's "Atheniad." 
Mr. Macdonald, writing of Bernard Barton the Quaker, calls him, 
hardly with injustice, "a poet of veiy small parts"; to Lamb the 
poems of Barton were "sweet with Doric delicacy," and he was ciqp- 
tivated with their " Quakerish beauty." Other instances might easily 
be cited, but these will suffice. They show that Lamb sometimes 
praised, if he very rarely blamed, amiss. A like amiable weakness is 
at times apparent in his judgments on Art He thought Hogarth's 
" Gin Lane " a " sublime print " : it is, says Canon Ainger " certainly 
one of the poorest of Hogarth's pictures as a composition," and few 
critics will question his decision. Indeed, a hundred passages might 
be quoted to prove that Lamb loved to stretch a point in behalf of a 
favourite. His praises of contemporary effort can only be mftfr^^hfu l 

Charles Lamb Once More. 283 

by Scott's assertion that B]rron, in '' Cain," had equalled Milton on 
his own ground; or by Johnson's extraordinary partiality for the 
writings of Mrs. Charlotte Lenox, in whose honour he inaugurated 
an all-night sitting at the Ivy Lane Club. And when we remember 
that the man who expected Southey to rival Milton was the man 
who, in 181 2, wrote on Shakespeare's Tragedies m the "Reflector," 
we ask whether any critic of equal insight ever sought so earnestly 
for excellences rather than faults in the writings of his friends as did 
Charles Lamb. 


284 "^^ Gentleman's Magatme. 


Part II. Its History. 

UNTIL M. Aubenas produced his exbaustiTe work, the 
tradition that Forum Julii had owed its creation to JttUus 
Ceesar had been very generally accepted, not only by the Southern 
populations generally, but also by erudite French authorities. The 
author of the " Histoire de Fr^jus," following an example that has been 
set by other historians of their native towns or dwelling-places of 
their selection, has, in the course of his researches, repudiated all 
unauthorised statements and traditions that he has considered due 
to mere popular fancy, and has striven his utmost to place all relat- 
ing to Frdjus upon a sound historical basis. Unfortunately, much 
has been irretrievably lost in the course of centuries. 

As can easily be conceived, the Romans were not the first people 
who formed a settlement at this particular spnt- The mere fact of 

All that R^tnains of Forum Julii. 285 

upon the wording of an inscription ^ discova^ at Fr^jus in very 
recent times, it does not seem warrantable, in consideration of the 
slight historical testimony' at the disposal of the local historians, to 
locate a population on the site eventually occupied by Forum Julii, 
anterior to the times when the Celto-Ligurian tribes brought them- 
selves within the confines of history by the resolute opposition that 
they offered to the Roman invaders. It is not improbable that 
the immediate predecessors of the Romans in this region were 
the Oxybiens, for it is difficult to believe that the great Celto- 
Ligurian tribe mentioned by Polybius, Strabo, Pomponius Mela, 
Pliny the Elder, and Florus, to which race these authors attributed 
military qualities of high value combined with the potentiality for 
resistance, should have been territorially confined within such 
narrow limits as are represented by the district lying between 
Cannes and Agay. There are plausible grounds, therefore, for the 
beh'ef expressed by Honor^ Bouche and Hardouin that the Oxybien 
country extended to the part now occupied by Fr^jus. Another 
powerful tribe, the Vocontii, inhabited the territory bordering 
upon the west of the destined site of Forum Julii. It is to be 
assumed, then, that the Oxybiens populating this region shared 
indirectly in the defeat of their countrymen and of the Deciates 
inflicted by Quintus Opimius. More than thirty years later they 
were involved in the national ruin brought about by the victories 
gained by Marcus Fulvius Flaccus and Caius Sextius Calvinus over 
the Vocontii and the Salluvians in the years 125 and 124 b.c. 

Forum Julii was built, but what prominent Roman was its 
founder no historic evidence survives to attest. 

Principally on the strength of a fanciful description by Girardin, 
the foundation of the Gallo-Roman city has been commonly 

» V, Aubcnas, Appendix, p. 755, Inscription 22 : 


♦♦rIPPRIMA . A* 



M. Alexandre's reading and translation of this inscription are as follows : 
Baricbalo amico Agrippina Primes Annos XL. (vixit understood), fferes ex 
testamento fecit et sibi. (<' To Baricbal, her friend, Agrippina Prima. He lived 
forty years. His testamentary heiress has erected this monument (for him) and 
for her.") At the foot of the inscription two clasped hands were sculptured. 
Baricbalo is a name of Hebrew derivation : harac and ^oAa/— blessed of Baal or 
of the Lord. It applied to a Phoenician merchant from Tjrre or Carthage. 
' Strabo*s Geography ^ lib. iv. cap. i. sees. 5 and 9. 

s86 Tkt GtntUmaiii MagtuHiu. 

ascribed to Jnlius Ocsar for the sole pilpable Ruoadiat Ae place 
Fwum Julii (the forum or the market erf' JaUiu) wu in the ooinie 
of his lifetime named after him ; bnt together with the &c^ as ve are 
informed by Joseph Antelmi,' that in the ancient worid three other 
dties were known under the same denomtnatiai, it moat be borne in 
mind that the name of the Dictator was coofened in sbnsb admiia- 
ation and servile adulation open a great many localitiei in the 
Roman Empire.* The first of the three towns just alluded to waa 
in Spain. PUny the Elder mentions it in the following paange : 
"Circa flumen ipsum, Ossigi quod cognominatur I^coiucmn; 
lUturgi qood ^frum Jultum; Ipaaturg^ quod Triumphale . . .** 
The second, wtucb was in Goinany, is named in the Acts of a 
Council held at Cologne in 887, against certun i»llagen of Chofch 
propoty. The bishops summon them. ". . . . Videlicet in 
fesdvitate sancd Johannis Baptists, 8 caL Julii, Am J*i^i, quando 
iteram, Deo annuente, synodus celebranda erit . . .* (bi diit 
instance the modem name is unknown.) The third waaiitaated in tte 
country of the Cami, in the territory that in 1490 became Venetia. 
It erentually grew into the city of CimdaU-di-FHitH, irtiich has given 
its name to the province of FriulL Pliny terms its inhabitants 
FimguUensts Iranspadam, evidently with a view to differentiating 
them from the Forojulians of Gallia Narboneosis.* Paulua Diacomia, 
the author of " De Gestis Longobardorum," also mentions this town, 
and designates it indifferently by the names of Yanaa Julii, Civitaa 
forojuliana, or Forojulianum Castrum. 

It seems, in fact, to have been not an uncommon dicunutance 
thus to name places after Julius Cesar. Should this distribution of 
nomenclature emanating Irom a single individual militBte consider- 
ably against the assumption that Forum Julii was founded by him, 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 287 

doubts would have intruded themselves upon the minds of the critical 
with regard to the founders and builders of Forum Julii. 

Aubenas, with some plausibility, suggests that Marius may have 
been the creator of the stronghold. When the news of the terrible 
defeat (in which 80,000 soldiers perished) sustained by Cepion and 
Mallius in 106 b.c. near the right bank of the Rhdne, in the eastern 
portion of Provincia, at the hands of the Cimbri and Teutones, reached 
Rome, the capital was cast into a state of consternation, and Marius 
was appointed to retrieve the disaster — the greatest that had ever 
be&llen the Roman arms. Marius assembled a powerful army and 
proceeded to Gaul ; but failed to try conclusions with the enemy, as 
the latter, in what appeared an access of barbaric fickleness, suddenly 
crossed the Pyrenees, and invaded the Hispanian Peninsula. These 
unanticipated tactics gave nearly three years of breathing space to 
Provincia, and enabled the great general to complete his formidable 
preparations. Aubenas considers it by no means improbable that 
Marius utilised this unexpected interval in employing his soldiers in 
building strong fortifications, the inroad of the Cimbri and Teutones 
having rendered the creation of a second great naval base an absolute 
necessity^ at the point where Forum Julii was built, which site, 
moreover, would lie in the way of the barbarians should they attempt 
any further invasion. That Marius planned and carried out great 
engineering works is evident from the fact of history mentioning 
the channel of communication between the Rhdne — obstructed, as 
it was, by sand — and the sea. This boldly conceived work long 
bore the name of " Fossae Marianae." But with regard to any share 
that he may have had in the construction of Forum Julii, as in the 
assumption of Caesar's claim thereto put forward by so many writers, 
no historical evidence exists in support of Aubenas's supposition. 

Notwithstanding his anxiety to come to some definite and accept- 
able decision in this difficult matter, the laborious efforts of Aubenas 
have only permitted him to arrive at the following vague conclusion. 
Forum Julii, at the time when the Narbonne colony was founded, which 
period would have been anterior to Julius Caesar, became, in its turn, 
a Roman colony. This establishment rose to be a maritime station 
and experienced successive developments. The conqueror of Gaul 
may possibly have sent out additional colonists to this place. As for 
the Julian name, it may either have been assumed by the town in sign 
of homage, have been taken as a result of solicited patronage, or may 
even have been spontaneously accorded. Taking as his basis the two 

' Narbonne, then the principal Roman naval station in Gaul, had £Ulen into 
the hands of the Cimbri and Teutones. 

388 TJU GentUmai^s M^nkm. 

priacqwl text-books of uitiqttitre^edallyidatiiig to Ae eiplaiti of 
Jnliiu Cesar, namely.hisUfe by Plntaidiuid his own ''Commaotuie^" 
Aobous his demoostnted that, in the ooone of the d^ yean 
occiqued by Cesar in completiiig his cooqaest of Gul, no allnaon 
whatever is made to Forum JuUL It mi^ be pat fianrard as an 
hypothesis that it may have been so genenJIy known tltat Jntin 
Ocsar was the founder of Fonun Jnlii that Flntarch and the con- 
tinuator(AulusHiTtius)ofthe''Commentaries" may have considered it 
poerile to state so elementary a Eut ; but then, on the other hand^ 
why should Cicero, Stiabo, Pomponius Mela, both Plinys and 
Tadtus, all of whom have alluded to Fnum Jnlii, have been ajfitntrd 
by similar negadve sentiments ? The same omisiioa is noticeaUo 
in the Itinenuy of Antonbos, Ptolemy's Geognphy, tbe desoiptiOD 
of the Universe by Stephen of Byzantium, the Theodonan TaUc^ wai, 
finally, the Notice on the Gallic Provinces edited in tbe fifth oentuty. 
Not a syllable is to be found in any of these authorities reUtitq[ 
to the foundation — the precise b^innings — aS Frijus I 

It is in a letter addressed by Munatiua Plancns to Cicero, dated 
about the middle of May in the decisive year 43 bx., that Fr^jn^ 
under its Roman name of Foram Julii, makes its first ^^learance in 
history. This epistle has naturally very important bearings upon the 
ancient history of Fr^jus, and Aubenas, after terming it the "certifi- 
cate of birth of the city," transcribes it almost in entirety. In this 
document a sentence occurs statii^ that, it having come to the know- 
ledge of tbe writer, Plancus, that Ludus, Antony's brother, had 
advanced as far as Forum Julii with a body of cavalry and « few 
cohorts, he (Plancus) had, the day before, sent out his own brother 
against him, at the head of 4,000 horse. ("Quum vero mihi nuntia- 
tum esset, Ludum Antonium praemissum cum equitibua et cohor- 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 289 

Judging by the numbers, composition, and condition of the large 
army (40,000 men) commanded by Antony and Ventidius, Forum 
Julii must at the period in question have been a military and naval 
station of the first rank. 

Although the circumstance is not positively vouched for by any 
ancient or modem historian, it is highly probable that the two future 
triumvirs and their joint army passed the interval separating the end 
of May from the beginning of September at Forum JuliL 

Between the years 27 and 9 b.c. Augustus paid four visits, 
separated by irregular intervals, to Gaul ; but it is curious to observe 
that the Roman writers of this epoch do not state whether he 
passed through Forum Julii. The omission is the more to be sur- 
prised at, since, according to the three most ancient writers — after 
Cicero's correspondents — ^who allude to Forum Julii, the name of 
the first Roman emperor is most intimately associated with what 
was, in his time and long subsequently, the greatest Roman port on 
the Mediterranean. Coins and inscriptions confirm the close con- 
nection of Augustus with the town. 

The three writers are Strabo, Pomponius Mela, and Pliny the 
Elder. All were in a position, familiar, as we are, with the dates at 
which they wrote and produced their works, to express an accurate 
opinion upon the state of things existing at the commencement of 
the Roman Empire. 

Strabo designated Forum Julii by the title of Navale Casarts 
AugusH ("the naval arsenal of Augustus").^ Pomponius Mela 
mentions the port after the localities neighbouring Nice: ''Nicse 
tangit Alpes, tangit Oppidom Deciatum, tangit Antipolis, deinde 
Forum Julii, Octavanorum colonial* * Finally, Pliny in his enumera- 
tion of the peoples and towns of the littoral^ observes : " In ora. 
Forum Julii, Octavanorum colonia quae Pacensis appellatur et 
Classica ; amnis in ei Argenteus." ' 

The savant^ Hubert Goltzius, vouches for the conservation of 
three coins, which have an important bearing upon the excerpts 

* Honor^ Bouche's translation. 
' De Situ OrbiSf lib. ii. cap. 5. 

• NcU, Hist, lib. ill cap. 5. "On the coast is seen Forum Julii, colony 
of the Octavanians (soldiers of the eighth legion), termed Pacensis and Classica ; 
the river Argens flows into it" These military colonists were time-expired 
veterans. The words '* amnis in eft Argenteus " may be considered to afford a 
proof furnished by a great ancient classical authority that a large additional 
supply of water was obtained by bringing a derivative of the Argens through the 
Western Ciudel {v. DescHptian of the Part^ Part I.). 

VOL. ccxcvix. NO. 2085. V 

290 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

just cited. Neither Joseph Antelmi ^ nor Boache * omits alluding to 
them in their learned scientific histories. Antelmi considers that one 
of these coins was struck during the reign of Augustus. It bears the 
inscription : col . jvl . oct . (Cohnia Julia OctavaHorum). The 
second, which is attributed to Nero^ bore upon its surface an inscrip- 
tion strongly confirmatory of Pliny's words : col . pacens . class . 
(Colonia Pacensis Classka). With regard to the third, belonging to 
Domitian's time, it handed down the name itself of the ancient town : 
COL . FOR . JVL . (Colonia Forum Julii), 

Finally, we include the interpretation of a very curious inscription 
that was discovered at Ntmes at the beginning of the seventeenth 
century. Aubenas has transcribed it among the three dozen in- 
scriptions forming part of his closely printed appendix, while it has 
also been reproduced by Bouche, Antelmi, Girardin, and Gruter. 
This epigraphical document ' has great importance in the eyes of the 
Fr^jusian historians. The meaning of the text is that the city of 
Forum Julii had dedicated this monument " to its patron (or one of 
its protectors), Quintus Solonius Severinus, the son of Quintus, 
incorporated in the Voltinia tribe, honoured with the gift of a public 
horse, quatuorvir of the treasury, pontiff, flamen of the province 
of Narbonne, and tribune of the soldiers of the eighth legion 

"This name of Zegio Ociava Augusia^^ observes Aubenas, 
" reproduced by a great number of funereal inscriptions discovered 
in different places, is a proof of the establishment imder Augustus 
of the colony of the Octavanians at Forum Julii." 

The Gallo-Roman city unquestionably enjoyed a period of pro- 

^ **De Initiis EccUsia forojuliensts, Dissertatio hbtorica, chronologict, 
critica, profanosacra, auctore Josepho Antelmio, Forojuliensi canonico. Aquis- 
Scxtiis (Aix) i68o," pp. 9 and 21. 

* Chorographie et Histoire dc la Provence^ par Honor^ Bouche, voL i. p. 246. 

■ . . . ET PHILOMVS . . . 
Q . SOLONIO , Q . F . VOL . 


IllI VIR . AB . AERAR . 







(Histoire de Frijus^ Appendix, p. 749,) 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 291 

sperity, greatness, and splendour, for besides being an important naval 
and military station, it was also a great commercial port, having been 
created with the idea of setting up rivalry to Marseilles, in addition to 
the competition to the Greek industrial colony already offered by 
Narbonne. It would seem to us, from various signs, that Forum 
Julii must even have run the older Roman establishment on the further 
side of the Rhone rather close. Nevertheless, after the death of 
Augustus, the period during which the colony remained prominently 
before the world was relatively brief. This epoch extends to the time 
of Hadrian, that is to say, little over a century. The hbtorical 
interest presented by these hundred years is principally biographicaL 
During the whole course of the 358 years that followed, at the expiry 
of which long interval the empire founded by Augustus crumbled 
into dust, narrative texts are utterly lacking, so that the local 
historians have found the reconstruction of the Fr^jusian annals an 

The B^nMictins de la Congr^tion de Saint-Maur were 
authorities to whom Fr^jus is deeply indebted for what has been 
preserved of her history. 

A Forojulian who was a prominent figure in the time of Augustus 
was the warrior poet, Cornelius Gallus. There is every reason to 
believe that he was the first historical personage bom in Forum 
Julii. Some biographers have stated, but upon insufficient evidence, 
that the Gallic actor, Roscius, who, as it is asserted, saw the light 
sixty-seven years before Gallus, was also bom in this town. Julius 
Grsecinus, who is termed several times by Seneca Vir egregius^ was 
a native of Fonmi Julii, as was his celebrated son, Agricola. 
Another celebrity of ancient Fr^jus is Valerius Paullinus, who was 
Procurator of Eastern Narbonensis when the Oriental provinces of 
the Empire, disgusted with the ignoble rule of Vitellius, declared 
in favour of Vespasian. There are reasons for supposing that he 
was a relative of Suetonius Paullinus, the general imder whom 
Agricola first served in Britain. One of the exploits of Valerius 
Paullinus was the capture of that most able military commander, 
Fabius Valens, who had refused to transfer his adherence to 
Vespasian. Valens, but two years before he met an untimely end 
in the citadel at Urbinum, had commanded in the interest of Vitellius 
the army that arrested the march of Otho's troops iipon Fomm 
Julii, and so saved the town from pillage and massacre. The 
battle is described as having taken place ''between Cagnes and 
Antibes " — considerably nearer the latter than the former place, we 
should imagine, judging firom a careful study of the details of the 

X 2 

292 The Gentlemaiis Magazine. 

engagement — with the result that Otho's savage l^ons were so 
severely handled that they fell back as far as Albenga in Liguria. 

Two poor narrow streets in Fr^jus, the Rue Gallus and the Rue 
Valere Paulin, perpetuate the memories of the personages after whom 

they are named. 

• ••••••• • 

We have now reached the Early Christian days of Fr^jus. 
It is only by deduction and by establishing a concordance of 
historical facts and of dates that an approximate idea can be furnished 
of the beginnings of the church at Forum Julii. This important 
question is surrounded by difficulties. In this origination the 
settlement of the three following points is comprised — namely, 
the introduction of Christianity into the second Narbonensis, 
to which is equivalent geographically the Provence of the 
present day ; the conversion of the people inhabiting the r^on 
constituting the diocese of Forum Julii ; and, finally, the establish- 
ment of the bishopric itself. The see of Forum Julii is not 
actually mentioned in history before the second half of the fourth 
century, namely, in the year 374, towards the end of the peaceful 
reign ofValentinian L, when the Acts of a Concik held at Valence in 
Dauphin^ cause its existence, like a ray of light sparkling in darkness, 
to flash upon us for the first time. The matter producing this reve- 
lation — for it amounts to little less, so enveloped in obscurity is the 
antecedent period — was the contested nomination to the bishopric 
of Forum Julii of a priest named Acceptus. As sometimes occurred 
in the early centuries of the Church, Acceptus, not being able to set 
aside the devoted importunities of the faithful, had, although a person 
of exceptional merit and superior purity, resorted, in an excess of 
humility or pious fear, to the questionable expedient of falsely 
accusing himself of sins that would disqualify him for the episcopacy 
in the eyes of the ecclesiastical authorities. Voluntary mond 
immolations of this nature becoming painfully frequent, it was 
decided, in the fourth article or canon drawn up by the CondU above 
mentioned, that candidates so accusing themselves, either truthfidly 
or falsely, should be taken at their word, and excluded from the high 
dignity. ( . . . " Sedit in synodo ut quisquis de se vel vera, vel falsa 
dixisset, fides ei, quam suomet testimouio confirmaret") This 
decision, promulgated with the force of a dogma, can only be con- 
sidered to be in strict accordance with common-sense, in the case of 
a generally accepted candidate who did not sufficiently honour his 
vocation. No exception was made with regard to Acceptus, although 
a second application for his appointment was earnestly put forwaid 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 293 

by the inhabitants of Forum Julii, who were in ignorance of the 
dogmatical judgment given by the Candle. The petition was 
strenuously supported by Concordius, the Bishop of Aries and Primate 
of the Narbonensis. A decision, the counterpart of the first, was given 
by the Fathers of the Council The epistle containing this judgment, 
addressed to ''our dearly beloved brethren, the clergy and the 
people of the church of Forum Julii," has been preserved. 

The omission of any mention of the Fr^jus church anterior to 374 
does not imply that the bishopric was not created until the year above 
mentioned — the precise date of the earliest certified documents 
relating to the ecclesiastical history of Fr^jus. On the contrary, the 
local ecclesiastical authors^ are correct in agreeing that the muniment 
in question and the facts that it recalls constitute an indisputable 
proof of the anteriority of the episcopal see of Forum Julii, 

The conversion of the second Narbonensis is attributed to Saint 
Trophime of Aries, an apostle who received his evangelising mission 
fi-om the Roman pontiff! The actual date of Saint Trophime's arrival 
is much contested by historians ; but the year 220, during the reign of 
Heliogabalus, is the time meeting with more serious acceptation. 
This date is adopted by the B^n^dictins de St. Maur, who derive 
iheir information from the writings of Saint Gregory of Tours. The 
father of French history rendered this latter see illustrious in the sixth 
century, as did Saint Martin, Bishop of Tours, towards the end of 
the fourth, from whose historian, Severus Sulpicius, known as the 
Christian Sallust, the learned B^n^dictins have also culled much 
valuable information. So far, the date of the introduction of Chris- 
tianity into the second Narbonensis is established ; but that of the 
foundation of the bishopric of Forum Julii has yet to be discovered. 
This cannot be fixed with certitude ; but the conjecture of Aubenas 
that the see may possibly have been founded soon after the arrival of 
Saint Trophime, as between the Rhone and the Var there were only 
four towns of any importance from different points of view, namely, 
Marseilles, Aix, Aries, and Forum Julii, is plausible. It is true that 
the bishopric of Forum Julii is not mentioned among many others 
in the Acts of the first Council of Aries, which was convoked in a 
moment of scrupulous impartiality by Constantine the Great, for the 
purpose of giving the Donatists another hearing. But from this 
omission it need not be deduced, as an irrefragable proof, that the 
see was not in existence at that period ; for whereas only twelve of the 

* Besides Joseph Antelmi, Girardin {Hutoire de la Vtlle et de PEgliu d» 
Frijus)^ and Aubenas (Histoire de Frijus^ Part i. p. 211), see also M. Disdier 
{Recherches htstoriques sur Saint IJpncet Etffque de Frijus et Patron du Dioche). 

394 "^^ GentUman's Magazine. 

thirty-three bishops who sat in person are mentioned by name, merdy 
four ecclesiastical centres, all of which as towns possessed far len 
statistical importance than Forum Julii, are deugnated as having seat 
non-mitred representatives. The assembly numbered eighty-two 
members, of whom a considerable percentage must have appertained 
to the Gallican Church. Presuming, however, for the sake of aigu- 
ment, that the see was not yet in being, there is no reason ftw 
assigning a later period than the reign of Constantine the Great for its 
foundation, as between that monarch's death, in 337, and the 
date mentioned above, 374, that of the &rst certified documents 
relating to the ecclesiastical history of Fr^jus, only thirty-seven years 
elapsed. Therefore the assumption is correct that the bishopric had 
already been established for some considerable time. 

The ensuing thirty years are characterised by an utter dearth of 
historic evidence concerning the Frijus Church. The name of the 
prelate who occupied the see that AccepCus had declined is unknown. 
At the end of this lacuna a bishop appears, who is not only the first 
prelate authoritatively known to have borne the dignity, but who may 
also be considered as the personage with whom the episcopal history 
of Pr^jus may be said to start This bishop was Saint Ltonce. He 
was— in times when Arianism and the semi-Pelagian heresies w«e 
rampant — unanimously accepted, by reason of his strict orthodoxy,' 
conspicuous piety, many virtues, and great services rendered to 
Christianity as a proselytiser, as the patron of the ancient foundation. 
It is f^rly well established that he entered upon his episcopal functions 
in the first years of the fifth century. Great additional lustre is shed 
upon his deservedly honoured memory on account of the strong 
friendship that existed between him and Saint Honorat, the founder 
of the L6rins monastery. This famous religious foundation apper- 

All that Retnains of Forum Julii. 295 

interesting to know that it was on account of this friendship that the 
principal religious establishment in Gaul was founded upon the island 
that has been rendered celebrated by the foundation. 

The literary productions of these primitive times furnish such 
sparse details relating to the first known Bishop of Fr^jus that it 
would be blameworthy to pass over in silence the few facts that the 
chroniclers have preserved. Saint L6once had a brother. Saint Castor, 
the Bishop of Apt Besides Osur better known ecclesiastical celebrities 
occupying high dignities, three priests, the eldest of whom was John, 
sumamed Cassien, a Scythian by birth, illustrated the earlier days of 
L^rins. Cassien, by practical experience, derived chiefly from a long 
residence in Palestine, Egypt, and different parts of Greece, had 
become a great authority upon monastic life. At Marseilles he 
founded the celebrated a^bey of Saint Victor. Saint Castor, being 
much struck by the £une of this religious house, addressed a letter — 
which has been preserved — to the Abb6 of Saint Victor, in which he 
pressed him to transcribe the Institutes of the recluses of Egypt and 
Palestine, so that their maxims might serve to form his own monks. 
Cassien agreed to the desire expressed by the Bishop of Apt, and 
drew up his twelve books on monastic institutions, which appeared 
towards the year 417. Upon an additional request of the Bishop of 
Apt, made, as Cassien states, "with an incomparable ardour for 
sanctity,'' the learned monk also transcribed the CoUationes or 
spiritual conferences that he had held with the Anchorites of Scetd, 
a desert of Lower Egypt Saint Castor, however, died before this 
labour was terminated. The first ten conferences were dedicated in 
part to Saint Leonce, with whom the Abb^ of Saint Victor had 
already had relations. By this time Saint Leonce had occupied the 
see of Frejus for a quarter of a century. 

Only one other document has survived relating to the biography 
of this prelate. He is mentioned in a letter addressed by Pope Saint 
C^lestin in 431 or 432 to the bishops of Gaul in general, and more 
especially to six bishops of Southern Gaul, who are alluded to by 
name. In this letter the Pontifi" exhorted them to be vigilant with 
regard to the semi-Pelagian doctrine that had recently sprung up at 
Marseilles, and which had originated from a more or less plausible inter- 
pretation of the writings of Abbe Cassien on matters relating to Grace. 

History and tradition have divided the sacerdotal career of Saint 
Leonce into three distinct portions, namely, his effective tenure of 
the episcopacy, as clearly established on an historical basis, his 
apostleship, and, thirdly, the period at which his martyrdom is con- 
jectured to have taken place. A tradition was once current favouring 

396 The GentUman's Magazine. 

the assumption of his martyrdom ; but it may be set aside as in- 
admissible, principally on account of the late date to which the event 
is ascribed. Should the evidence advanced in coiroboradon of the 
second portion be really worthy of acceptance, this Bishop of Frtljns 
appears in a pathetic and romantic light in the eyes of posteri^. 
We are invited to believe, on the strength of assumptions tha^ it 
may be owned, are not easily set aside, that a prelate alteady 
advanced in life voluntarily gave up the active administration of his 
diocese in his seat of episcopal government, although letaining his 
title of bishop, and penetrated wearily into the depths of Germany 
to convert the heathen tribes, or, at least, ventured among the 
Germanas gentes,^ that is to say, the Visigoths and the Burgurtdiaoii 
already established on Gallic soil, with the object of combating 
Arianism. Such is the idea that is put forward. It is cleariy estab- 
lished that, in the year 433, the " faithful and clergy " of Fr^jus elected 
a new bishop named ThA>dore, whence the presumption that Saint 
lAince was dead. There is nothing very improbable in such a 
notion, as he would have then occupied the see for no less a period 
than thirty-three years. A tradition, however, survives in the Fr^jus 
Church that Saint L^once was the nominal holder of the see for a 
further space of fifteen years. These three lustra he passed in the 
manner already mentioned, and they constitute what the Church has 
denominated his apostleship. The tradition leans upon a lAter 
emanating from Pope Leo the Great, in which an aged prelate 
named Uonce is alluded to as the recipient of the highest tokens of 
the Pontiff's confidence and regard. This letter was written in 445. 
The subject giving rise to the epistle was the disputed primacy of 
Aries and Vienne. M. Disdier, who is the principal authority upon 
the episcopate of the first known Bishop of Fr^jus, has, in a most 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 297 

not likely to return. Pope Leo's letter reveals who actually was 
Bishop of Fr^jus. In the meantune, Theodore represented Saint 
L^nce, so to speak. Upon the latter's demise, Theodore became 
the sole holder and administrator of the see, as a matter of course. 
It will be gathered from what has preceded that a halo of mystery 
encircles what may be termed the latter part of the life of Saint Ltonce. 

After the martyrdom of Saint Ausile, the successor of Theodore, 
a gap of five centuries occurs. This epoch is entirely devoid of civil 
history, and is almost utterly lacking in ecclesiastical chronicles. 
The dearth of muniments is attributed by Antelmi and Girardin to 
the inroads of the Saracens and other barbarians. There is a popular 
saying prevalent at Fr^jus that the town has been razed to the 
ground seven times, namely, by the Vandals, the Burgundians, the 
Visigoths, the Saxons, the Lombards, the Normans, and the Saracens. 
Provencal annals only bear testimony to the Saracenic devastations. 

The thread of the history of Fr^jus is not recovered until 
towards the end of the tenth century. Among the episcopal archives 
is a valuable document that all writers upon the ecclesiastical history 
of Fr^jus have quoted in extenso^ and which Aubenas terms " the 
Act that bears witness to the end of the existence of ancient Forum 
Julii, and the certificate of birth of modern Frejus." This definition 
is intended to convey a more comprehensive meaning than appears 
upon the surface. The Act in question, of which a copy only has 
been preserved,^ is a charter by the terms of which William L, fifth 
Count of Provence, restored to the bishopric of Frdjus, in the person 
of Riculfe, the first prelate who occupied the see after the expulsion 
of the Saracens, its ancient patrimony, and, at the same time, ceded 
half the town and half the surrounding district appertaining to it,' in 
order to reward the bishop, who had been the first to commence 
rebuilding Frejus. This concession was made to the bishop and his 

* This charter has been preserved in the cartulaire, entitled : Authenticum 
rubeum sancta EccUsia forojuliensis. The Red Booky or Liber pilosus^ as it was 
designated at a very early date, was drawn up in 1401, at the instance of Bishop 
Louis de BoUiiac. The latter term was conferred upon it in reference, probably, 
to the quality of the leather employed in its binding, while, in explanation of the 
first designation, red is considered to have been the colour of the initial letters, 
titles of the chapters, or the hue in which any extraneous matter may have been 
transcribed. The Autheniique Rouge^ as it is also called, contained the title-deeds 
of the revenues, privileges, and general property of the Frejus bishopric. 

' According to some old charters, the remaining moiety reserved by the C6unts 
of Provence was possessed as a fief of the second degree and under homage by 
special Vicomtes. This arrangement lasted unlil 1203, when the bishops became 
sole seigneurs. In 1565 Bishop Bertrand de Romans resigned all the seigneurial 
rights, with the exception of those relating to the administration of justice. 

298 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

successors in perpetuity. This charter, while incontestably estab- 
lishing the facts of the destruction of Forum Julii by the Saracens, 
and the great assistance rendered to Riculfe for the purpose of re- 
building the town and the church, furnishes no precise dates of either 
event The year in which the charter is drawn up is represented 
by a blank. These dates have been approximately established by 
Joseph Antelmi (the contemporary writers maintaining silence with 
regard to the disaster), who mentions 915 as being the year in which 
the city was destroyed, and 975 as that in which the episcopal 
restorer began to rebuild it William I., fifth Comte de Provence 
or of Aries, governed his state between 968 and 992. 

The town rebuilt was small, and it remained stationary for many 
decades. It was not until 1568 that it was deemed prudent to 
build a new enceinte^ in order to enclose the straggling additions to 
Riculfe's village. Some portions of the lofty walls and two or three 
towers of the sixteenth-century rampart still remain. The andent 
Forum Julii must have been four or five times as large as the Fr^jus 
of to-day. 

The episcopate of the founder of Fr^jus extended to the year 
1000. The celebrated monastery of Montmajour, of which so much 
is preserved, erected upon a hill forming an island in the midst of 
the extravasated waters of the Rhdne, owed its foundation to Riculfe's 
aunt Teucinda. 

The Saracen invasion of 870 accounts for the almost utter dearth 
of historical evidence relating to the five hundred years extending 
between the latter days of the fifth and the end of the tenth centuries, 
but no reason would seem to be put forward for the sparseness of 
recorded events between the termination of Riculfe's tenure of the 
bishopric and the beginning of the fifteenth century. In the opinion 
of the local historians, hardly any circumstance, after the death of 
Riculfe, took place worthy of being recorded until the year 1 100, when 
Provence in general was the scene of a civil war. The episcopate of 
no Frejus prelate is chronicled at any length until the end of the 
thirteenth century, when Jacques d'Ossa was elected to the see. The 
sole reason that we are able to discover for terming this bishop the 
" most illustrious " who ever presided over the Frdjus diocese would 
seem to lie in the extraneous fact that he became Pope (under the 
title of John XXII.). The claim to greatness would be strengthened 
had he really been the son of an artisan, as some writers have ad- 
vanced ; but in the Middle Ages few bishops were of so humble an 
origin. It must also be borne in mind that Jacques d'Ossa was bat 
eleven years Bishop of Frdjus, while Saint Leonce and Riculfe had 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 299 

devoted the greater part of their long lives to the diocese. The 
greatness of a holder of any given office is in reference to his acts in 
direct connection with that office, not with regard to what he may 
perform in a different situation elsewhere. Jacques d'Ossa occupied 
the chair of St. Peter for eighteen years, while previously he had been 
Archbishop of Avignon during six years. 

In 1473, Bishop Leon Gu^rinel having resigned the Fr^jus see, 
Pope Sixtus IV., without waiting for the presentation of King Ren^ 
and the chapter, conferred the bishopric, propria rnatu, upon his 
Genoese secretary, Urbano dei Fieschi. Strongly supported by 
King Rene, the canons refused to acknowledge Urban as their 
bishop. The Pontiff retaliated by excommunicating the Fr^jus 

In 14S0 Provence was ravaged by the Plague. Soon the epidemic 
spread to Frejus. This calamity led to the sojourn within its 
walls of one of those remarkable characters who not only illustrate 
an age, but who also mark an epoch in the history of the locality 
where their footsteps seem almost miraculously to guide them. 
Half of the inhabitants succumbed to the Pest, while the greater 
number of the remainder of the population, panic-stricken, took to 
flight, leaving but a few in the town, who were too prostrate to be 
removed, or who deliberately shut themselves up in their houses and 
refused to succour each other. At this paralysing juncture (we 
have reached the year 1483), there appeared upon the desolate 
coast, cast up by a shipwreck, a saintly man, Saint Francois de 
Paule, who, so far, at least, had amid perils journeyed in safety from 
his native land, the recesses of Calabria. From this distant part of 
Southern Italy he had been summoned lo the bedside of Louis XL, 
then lying at death's door at Plessis-les-Tours, the superstitious 
monarch having caused an urgent appeal to,l)e conveyed to one whose 
reputation for sanctity and as a worker of miracles, he trusted, might 
stand him in good stead when it had become evident that the science 
of man was unavailing. Attended by a few companions. Saint 
Francois reached Frejus, the nearest town to the spot upon which 
he had been thrown by the tempest. He entered by the Meous Gale. 
Painfully struck by the grim desolation reigning around, the holy 
man, as he was threading his way through the nanow streets which 
abut on the Cathedral square, met an old woman, the first human 
being whom he had yet seen within the sorrow-stricken precincts. 
Accosting her, he inquired why the town was thus deserted by ils 
inhabitants. "Hi! father," she replied, " it is because the Plague 
is here. Half of the people have perished, and the greater number 

300 The Gentlemaris Magazine. 

of the others have fled or are shut up at home." The saint then fdl 
upon his knees, and implored Heaven to withdraw this terrible 
scourge from a town to which he had been providentially guided. 

Tradition states that a cessation of the Plague coincided with 
his prayer, while, simultaneously, those who were afflicted with 
the malady recovered their health. Girardin is the earliest local 
historian to record this tradition ; ' but it had been implicitly 
believed by all his predecessors that the visitation was brought to an 
end at the moment that Saint Francois offered up his supplicatioa 
Within seven years after his arrival in Fr^jus, a convent dedicated to 
his Order, which in his humility he denominated the *' Minimes," was 
erected to perpetuate the memory of what had been accomplished. 
All traces of the convent have disappeared; but the church of 
Saint Francois de Paule, that appertained to the religious institution, 
is still in a perfect state of preservation. To the present day, a fftte 
is annually celebrated by the population of Fr^jus on the third 
Sunday after Easter, in grateful remembrance of their protector, 
whom they have chosen for their second patron. 

As time advanced, great modifications were introduced into the 
mode of nomination of the Fr^jus bishops. In the more primitive 
days of the Fr^jusian' Church they had been elected by the unani- 
mous consent of the ''clergy and fiuthful." This electoral method 
would imply that, if the ecclesiastics upon whom the general choice 
fell were not absolutely members of the local Church, they were 
at least well known in the regioa Later, they were elected by 
the choice of the chapter. Finally, at a period somewhat prior to 
the times that have now been reached, the nomination of the bishops 
administering the Fr^jus diocese was due to a common understand- 
ing arrived at between the canons, sovereigns, and popes. As a 
result of this intermeddling on the part of foreign potentates in local 
affairs, prelates not only strangers to Provence, but also members of 
other nationalities, especially Italians, received the investiture of the 
bishopric. It was during the episcopate of Leo Orsini that the two 
invasions of Provence by the armies of Charles V. took place. 
Frdjus formed for a brief space the headquarters of the Imperialists. 
It was in the course of the second inroad that the cathedral was 
despoiled of all its plate and relics by the invaders. 

Frijus, being in Eastern Provence, seems to a great extent to 
have escaped the horrors of the Wars of Religion. Also, the seven- 
teenth century presents few historic facts likely to excite the interest 
of any but enthusiastic Frejusian students. 

* Gizudin, torn. i. p. 225. Aabenas, part i. pp. 276-9. 

All that Remains of Forum Julii. 301 

Few, if any, Bishops of Fr^jus have filled so prominent a place in 
general — as contrasted with purely local — history as Andri Hercule 
(Cardinal) de Fleury ; but what is most striking in the course of his 
long life and vivid career is the remarkable fact that, at the age of 
sixty-two, and when recovering from an attack of malignant fever 
that might well have proved fatal, circumstances disclosed to him, on 
resigning the bishopric of Fr^jus, that the most brilliant part of his 
public life was yet in store for him. It would almost seem that his 
destiny had imposed delay, as he had a long life before him wherein 
to accomplish his mission. Confining ourselves to his direct con- 
nection with Fr^jus, suffice it to state that Fleury governed the 
diocese for sixteen years. It was in the course of his tenure of the 
episcopate that the invasion of Provence of 1707 took place. Bishop 
Fleury did much to temper the animosity inevitable to warlike 
operations, and it is entirely due to his intervention that Fr^jus 
escaped horrors that might possibly have been perpetrated. Among 
the many beneficent acts that have been recorded of this eminent 
prelate during his tenure of the bishopric is the installation of the 
Chariti de Nevers sisters in the Hotel- Dieu. The historian Girardin 
was curi at Frdjus during Fleury's episcopate. 

To Fr^jus is due the birth of one of the most remarkable men in 
France during the Revolution and the period immediately preceding 
it This historical character was Abb6 SieySs. 

There is one Fr^jusian family in particular of which the members 
in the course of the same generation shed great lustre upon their 
native town. Allusion is made to the four Antelmis. All were 

The most famous was the third in chronological order, Joseph 
Antelmi, the ecclesiastical historian of Fr^jus. He was a writer who 
would have done honour to any age in the realms of history and 
theology. His best-known worl^ to which he devoted fifteen years, 
is his " Dissertation." 

The greatest trial that Fr^jus had to undergo in connection with 
the Revolution was the suppression of the bishopric. A short time 
previous to the Reign of Terror, the "Civil Constitution of the Clergy" 
had preserved the see, which had been conferred upon a curb named 
Rigouard, who was also one of the deputies for the province at the 
States-General. Rigouard was thus merely a constitutional bishop, and 
the nomination did not meet with the approbation of the Fr^jusians. 
As it happened, the Concordat, although, as times went, favourable 
to religion in general, was to Fr^jus, as far as its bishopric was con- 
cerned, little less inimical than the Terror, and far more dis- 

302 The Gentlemans Magazine. 

advantageous than the Civil Constitution of the Clei^gy, which had 
maintained a bishopric in each Department The Concordat, in 
fact, suppressed the Fr^jus see, and formed of the Departments of 
Var atid Bouches-du-Rhone one huge diocese ruled by the Arch- 
bishop of Aix. Moreover, by being deprived of its bishopric, the 
town lost the sole surviving remnant of its former splendour. Con- 
sequently, it is easy to conceive how ardently the population longed 
for its re-establishment This happy event was brought about in 
1817 by the Government of the Restoration. In 1845 Casimir 
Wicart, who was then Bishop of Fr^jus, obtained permission to add 
the name of Toulon to the title of his diocese. 

Up to the date of the suppression of the Frijus bishopric only 
thirty-two prelates, according to a calculation of our own, seem to 
have been mentioned by local historians as worthy of being chronicled, 
a proof of the sad state of dilapidation into which the municipal 
and episcopal archives had fallen. Such a paucity of data offers a 
painful contrast to the ecclesiastical history preserved by other 
towns in Provence. Suffice it to mention the bishopric of Antibes. 
By a Bull emanating from Genoa, and bearing the date of the 14th of 
the Calends of August (July 19), 1243, Innocent IV. ordered the trans- 
lation of the bishopric of Antibes to Grasse. The first bishop of the 
transferred see was Bertrand d'Aix, the fortieth and last Bishop of 
Antibes ! * 

The reason why the Frdjusians had to wait so considerable a time 
before their bishopric was re-established is not difficult to discover. 
Its restoration amounted to an impossibility so long as Napoleon 
held supreme power ; but the explanation of this matter is involved 
with the last episode of the history of Fr^jus upon which we intend 
to dwell. 

On October 9, 1799, Buonaparte disembarked at Saint-Raphael, 
on his sudden and almost clandestine return firom Egypt. A small 
obelisk erected on the Cours Jean Bart commemorates this event 
Local historians have mentioned the disembarkation of Buonaparte 
as having taken place at Fr^jus. In point of fact, Saint-Raphael, as 
alluded to in the prods-verbal drawn up by the Agents-municipaux^ 
is, legally speaking, the landing-place of the Gulf of Frd;jus, the 
entrance to the ancient Roman harbour (which outlet was once 
situated at less than one kilometre from the spot where Saint- 
Raphael was subsequently built) having been choked by the sand, 

* See Grasse^ by the late M. Paul S^n^uicr, cap. iv. p. 46 ; also Tisserand's 
History of Nice, 

All that Remains of Forum Julti. 303 

and the Fr^jus municipality holding maritime jurisdiction as far as 

The formalities invariably attendant upon landing having been 
waived by the Fr^jus municipality, the hero of Egypt was invited to 
come on shore at once. He did so amid the most enthusiastic 
acclamations. On his way northward, the General halted for a very 
brief space at Frijus. 

Pius VII., besides having granted the Concordat, had also con- 
sented to crown the First Consul, upon the latter's assumption of 
the title of Emperor. By this act of coronation a royal impress was 
conferred upon the Buonaparte sept, as far as it lay in the papal 
power to bestow it. Divergencies of opinion, however, soon mani- 
fested themselves between the great spiritual chief and the powerful 
French monarch. Enmity did not fail to declare itself on the 
Emperor's side. In 1808 he deprived the Pope of his states. In 
the following year, after having taken Rome, the victorious potentate 
ordered the Pontiff to be seized and conveyed to France. After a 
sojourn of two weeks at Grenoble, orders arrived to re-convey him to 
Savona. In fear of the hostile demonstrations against himself that 
the passage of the beloved head of the Church would inevitably 
occasion among the outraged people of Piedmont, Savoy, and 
Tuscany, the Emperor gave directions that the return journey to 
Italy should be along the valley of the Rh6ne and through Provence. 
Four days after his departure from Grenoble the Pope arrived 
at Fr^jus, receiving there, as, in fact, he had everywhere along 
the route, the deepest marks of sorrowful respect. The Holy 
Father passed the night at an hostelry known in those days by 
the name of the "Hotel des Quatre Saisons." By a curious stroke of 
destiny, it was reserved to the Frdjusians, before five years had elapsed, 
to behold their two illustrious guests once more; but under what 
changed circumstances ! Now the roles were to be reversed. This 
time it was to be the turn of the Pope to come in glory and triumph, 
and the fallen Emperor to pass through in ignominy and abasement. 

The Napoleonic star may be said to have attained its apogee in 
1 81 2. In that year the Emperor caused the Pope to be transported 
from Savona to Fontainebleau. In the beginning of 18 14 France 
found herself menaced by a formidable European coalition, and 
Napoleon, fearing that further detention of the head of the Roman 
Church might serve but to create additional complications, gave 
instructions that Pius VII. should be once more conducted to Italy. 
The Pope quitted Fontainebleau as a liberated captive on January 22, 

304 The Gentlematis Magazine. 

1814. Simultaneously, Napoleon left Paris to take command of the 
French armies. 

On February 8 the Pope arrived at Fr^jus. He passed the night 
at the Hotel Pascal. Although, in fulfilment of the Emperor's strict 
injunctions, he had been escorted across France by the most 
circuitous routes, his whole progress had been one long ovation. 

On February 9 Pius VH. left Fr^jus. On April 27 Napoleon 
returned there. But in this brief intenral what changes had occurred 
in the fortunes of the Pope's persecutor ! The Emperor had 
succumbed and had been constrained to abdicate. Conducted to 
the southern coast for transportation to Elba, the four European 
Cmimissaires were barely able to protect him from the violence 
of the people, as he approached Avignon. In Fr^jus he was &vour- 
ably received; but so hostile had his reception been throughout 
Provence that the demeanour of the southerners elicited from him 
the exclamation that he regretted that Fr^jus was in that province 
Upon this — his second visit to the historic town — ^the follen potentate 
alighted at the same hotel that Pius VII. had evacuated but little 
over six weeks before. He even occupied the same room. On the 
following morning he was taken to Saint-Raphael, and embarked on 
the Intripide for conveyance to Elba. 

Besides exhibiting a marvellous instance of worldly vicissitudes, 
the entire episode affords an example of the fragile nature of all power 
built upon mundane ambition. It shows how, in a brief space, it may 
crumble into dust, however formidable its human impersonation. It 
points out how true greatness, tempered by humility, may for a time 
lie prostrate at the feet of oppression, but that the moment comes at 
last when Justice reasserts her sway, and enables the persecuted to 
behold the downfall of their ravisher. 




" Even thott, mj companion • • . mine own fiuniliar friend." 

WHY must he go alone into the dark ? 
May I not follow, just a little way — 
Or walk beside, and lend a helping hand ? 

The Spirit of the Night waits patiently 

At the wide^pen window, waits to take 

His weary soul and bear it far away 

Across the meadows, green with thoughts of Spring, 

Over the dim hills, through the dreamy woods. 

Till this great city 'neath the yellow moon 

Lies sleeping in the distance, and they reach 

The gate of that strange path my friend must tread. 

They say that he must tread it, and alone. 
But for that must I know he would not leave 
Me thus without one sign, one parting word. 
For we were friends, and always shall be, though 
Death step between and hide beneath his wings 
The one, and bid the other go and live 
His life on to the end, alone. 

How short 
A time, my friend, was given to us to test 
And prove our friendship's faithfulness ! Just three 
Swift, flying years have passed since first we met. 
And paused — and looked — and looked yet once again^ 
And then were friends ! Oh, friendship such as ours 
Is given to but a few. So rare, so sweet 
A thing I ne'er had dreamt of in the years— 
Those years, how barren and remote they seem I— 
Before our hearts and tongues together spoke. 
VOL. ccxcvii. NO. 2085. 

3o6 TJI^ GeiUiemmis Magusuu. 

Our fnendthip was a gift so deariy \ianA 

That deep widitn our Ures we kqrt it hid. 

Only wben dodc were near we took it oat, 

Unfolded it, and gloried in it iriien. 

Freed dl all wr^>pings, it between as lay 

Spread in its beauty. Moments socb as these 

Came seldom, for we never dared to risk 

The chance that others' mocking eyes might fall 

Upon it with their scornful, withering gaze; 

We knew — that was enough — we knew twis there. 

Huiy a h^>py hour we two have spent 

Wanderii^ through the streets of this great London— 

Although one scarce would think that sudb a flower 

As ours could bloom there — while the summer sky 

Uncovered one by one her golden eyes, 

And cast aside the dusl^ veil di twilight 

Behind which she had stxrowed for the sun. 

Oh, how we hugged our treasure dose, and laughed 

To think that no man there could see or guess 

The jewd lying hidden in our hearts. 

Not even he who walked beside us, touched 

Our shoulder, nibbed against our sleeve ; nor he 

Who met us on the pathway face to fac^ 

And turned perhaps, and wondered who we were 

Who wandered thus at n^ht-time ann-in-atm. 

With lips that seldom spoke, and eyes that smiled. 

And other times, when through the sunny days 

We let our boat go drifting down the river, 

And lay and watched the water rushing past 

The Shadowy Way. jc^ 

Then, though the night-wind roared and whistled loud 

As though he coveted a place beside 

Our glowing fire, and though the drifting flakes 

Of snow fell thick and fast outside our doors. 

We were not troubled Our fire-side was warm, 

And we were there together, just we two. 

We two ! We two ! And now 'twill be no more 

" We two," but only one— one left behind, 

The other started off along the road 

That leads through darkness to eternity. 

Walk slowly, O my friend, haste not your steps ! 

Look oft for me ; I surely follow soon. 

I know you cannot stay, eVn if you would, 

Though through the window floats the breath of Spring— 

And surely that would hold you if there were 

Aught that could touch you now ! But even Spring's 

Glad, glorious kiss is robbed of all its power 

When Death lifts up his hand and points to one. 

And says, " Come, follow me, and I will show you 

Many strange things you never saw before. 

And lead you by strange paths you never trod." 

Perhaps even now the gate before you swings 

And you must enter, willingly or not, 

And take the first dread step into the dark. 

Perhaps you pause and look for me, and ask 

The Keeper of the Gate if you -may stop 

And wait until I come, so that we might, 

As oft before, go walking arm-in-arm. 

And make the way seem short instead of long, 

And light, instead of dark and slippery. 

But no, it cannot be. You bravely step 

Into the deepening shadows, all alone. 

And yet I feel your footsteps will not slip ; 

Perhaps some wiser Friend than I is there 

To guide you past the pitfalls. But the gate 

Swings back and shuts me out. I cannot see 

Where now you walk — I only know that I, 

Your friend, am left alone — ^alas ! far more 

Alone than you, although my life will hold 

Oru sunlit chamber, full of memories 

Of you and of those three short, sunlit years. 

i Tk$ GnUbmmris Magatim. 

Bat loon petbapi— who knows?— the Keeps wxf 

Open the gate again and let me pwa. 

Then will I run and hasten throng^ the daik 

Until I find yoo, never mind how iar 

In front So^ do not huny on too &st, 

But wait, oh, wait for me^ny friend, my friend 1 




Mr. Swinburne's Collected Poems. 

A COLLECTION in library form of Mr. Swinburne's poetry and 
drama has long been a desideratum. The first two volumes 
of this have appeared ^ in a handsome and convenient shape, and 
the entire work, so far as regards the lyrical portion, is likely to be 
in the reader's hands in the course of the present year. I cannot 
doubt that the enthusiastic welcome I myself accord this publication 
will be conceded by all lovers of poetry. Never in the history of 
literature has plenary recognition of the arrival of one of the immortals 
been so frankly and so warmly accorded as in the case of Mr. 
Swinburne. One temporary outburst of incompetency and malignity 
there was, its excuse being found in the appearance of the very 
volume of Poems and Ballads a reprint of which forms the first 
volume of the collection. The effect of this, though perceptible 
enough at the outset, soon ceased to be felt, and the work, which has 
constituted the permanent delight of scholars and lovers of poetry, 
and has never undergone any form of curtailment or mutilation, now 
appears without, so £eu: as I can detect, the elision of a comma or 
an apostrophe, and without provoking any word of censure. On 
the contrary, the issue of a complete edition has been a subject of 
warm congratulation throughout the world of journalism. 

Puritan Outbursts in England. 

OUTBREAKS of prurient indignation such as were caused by the 
first appearance of Poems and Ballads are a familiar feature 
in the history of later English literature. They are partly, but not 
wholly, an outcome of the Puritanism in which the country was formerly 
steeped. Respectability in the person of Roger Ascham protested 
against the romances of chivahy. The Morte Arthur even, in which 
modem judgment has found so much that is profitable in teaching 
and poetical in suggestion, was rebuked by Ascham, himself a 
gambler and a cockfighter, for licentiousness and cruelty, '* the whole 

> Chatto & Windus. 

3o8 The Gentleman* s Afagasi$te. 

Bat soon perbaps — who knows?— the Keeper may 

Open the gate again and let me pass. 

Then will I run and hasten through the dark 

Until I find you, never mind how fiur 

In front So, do not hurry on too bst, 

But wait, oh, wait for mej[my firiend, my firiend ! 


Table Talk. 311 


IT would be easy to dwell on matters such as the long-enduring 
neglect of McHTis, the fierce arraignment of the ''spasmodic 
school," venomous assaults upon Rossetti, the opposition encountered 
by some of the experiments even of Tennyson. For Mr. Swinburne 
was reserved an outburst of rancour and incompetence unequalled 
since the days of Keats. What a croak it was ! 

As when those hinds that were transformed to frogs 
Railed at Latooa's twin-bom prog;eny 
Which after held the sun and moon in fee. 

Yet in this case, as in other cases, the storm subsided as quickly 
as it arose, and the Poems and Ballads rest peacefully on the same 
shelf with the Revolt oflslam^ Donjuan^ Hyperion^ and the Prelude^ 
and " nobody seems one penny the worse." I dare not hope that 
the lesson of wisdom has been learnt, or that the next great poet, 
should he ever show himself, and prove, as needs he must, utterly 
unlike anything that has gone before, will have any more hospitable 
reception than his predecessors. Now, even, some of my readers will 
shrug their shoulders or smile when I say, what is unquestionably 
true, that the statesman to whom until these later days we used to 
look up is but the registrar of the ideas of the poet 

Mr. Swinburne's Dedicatory Epistle. 

THE Dedicatory Epistle to the poet's friend, Mr. Watts-Dunton, 
which constitutes all in the way of preface or introduction 
that is supplied to the collected edition of Mr. Swinburne's Poems, 
is in no sense an apologia, as I have heard it called. It is rather a 
firesh challenge. Having " nothing to regret and nothing to recant," 
the writer dreams neither of excuse nor apology. His critics scorn- 
ful or mournful of a generation ago he dismisses with the implied 
rebuke that they were unable to discriminate between " photographs 
from life" and "sketches from imagination." "Some," he con- 
tinues, "which keen-sighted criticism has dismissed with a smile as 
ideal or imaginary, were as real and actual as they well could be : 
others which have been taken for obvious transcripts from memory 
were utterly fantastic or dramatic" In Songs before Sunrise 
every line, from the first to the last, was written "in submissive* 
obedience to Sir Philip Sidney's precept— 'Look in thine heart, and 
write.' " On the utterances concerning his plays Mr. Swinburne is 
no less outspoken. His aim in the earlier of them was to do some- 

312 The Gentkmads Ma^mmt. 

thing "not uUeriy unvortby of a yoaog co uuUyi mn of Uarknre the 
tocher, and Webster the popil dt Shake^>eu«, in the line of wotfc 
which these three poets had left as a possibly unattainable exam^ 
for Englishmen." " Bothwell " was called by Ur. Swinbume^ in the 
dedication in verse to Victor Hugo, a "diame 6pique," and the 
description woo from the Frenchman this magnificent eulogy, 
" Occuper ces demt cimes, cela n'est donn^ qu'A tous." 

Mr. SwiNBtniNB as a Pokt. 

MEANTIME, all stonns past, the position of Mr. Swinbnrae on 
the topmost slopes of Helicon is secure. In a matter such 
as this I speak with absolute certainty. None with an elementary 
knowledge of poetry, and such are few, will contradict me. No 
such volume of firstfruits as that before me has ever seen the light 
I nse that tenn " firstfniits " advisedly, even though other woiks^ 
including the incomparable "Atalanta in Calydon," had preceded. 
A volume including poems such as the " Ballads of Life and 
Death," the "Triumph of Time," "A Leave-Taking," the " Hymn to 
ProseriMne," the "Garden of Proseipine," — but why continue ? — is 
unprecedented in IJteratuTe. The only perceptible effect of its hostile 
reception was that the offer of the Laureateship, which, presumably, 
Mr. Swinburne would not have accepted, was never made, and the 
laurels which on any head but his must shape themselves into a 
foolscap went elsewhere, with the result that we crave only for the 
abohtion of the office they symbolise. We are in no sense attacking 
personally the present wearer, whose chums to them seem as 
respectable as those of any acknowledged competitor in the race. 
If ever, however, there was a case of out Gesar aut tmlhu — to 
change somewhat the appUcation of the Roman Emperor's diarac- 



October i 904. 


By Alison Rae. 

But past who can recall, or done undo ? — Paradise Lost, 

A LONELY stretch of sand in a lonely comer of France. A 
woman in a long dark travelling cloak pacing to and fro, 
to and fro, on the hard sand. Now she looked out to sea, now 
lifted her sorrowful eyes towards a great crucifix, on the dunes over- 
head, showing black against the grey of the chill autumn sky. To 
and fro, to and fro, the poor mother paced, her white hands clasped 
tightly before her, her white face wofully haggard, and her^unshed 
tears stifling her. 

" O my God, my God, forgive me ! Forgive me ! " was her 
prayer, " forgive me ! " 

She looked towards the crucifix again, and saw the blue smoke 
curling upwards behind it from the little inn buried in the valley 
below. There, in that inn, lay her dead, her beloved dead. So young ! 

80 fair ! so so A dreadful cry broke from the mother's heart, 

but no tears fell. She would have been thankful for the relief of tears. 
No, no ; her darling, her beloved, was not naturally deceitfiil. Some 

cruel wretch taught her that " God forgive him ! God forgive him I 

And, ah — God forgive me 1 " she prayed ; and then the sobbing 
cry broke forth again. But there were no tears. Ah, God, it was 
for this that she had pinched and saved through the long, long years. 
It was for this— that a man might steal her beautiful treasure from 
her. She thought of her other girls, and for a moment not with 

VOL. ccxcvn. NO. 2086. 2 

314 The Genilemaiis MagatiM. 

tenderness, but with bitterness. Thee she pnyed Bgun, "God 
forgive me I God forgive me I " 

The innkeeper's wife came tomrds her down ttie dimes— « 
stout, niddy-Eued peasant woman, with i black woollen shairi tied 
over her white cap and a long dark cloak covering her. Stxt had « 
rosary in her hand, and her lips moved as if in prayer. 

" Come," she said, laying her hand on the mother's arm, **con]e 
and see. All is arranged. She looks beautifiiL" Her tean over- 
flowed and she sobbed aloud unrestrainedly. " Beaotifhl as an angd. 

If only he could see her now '" The modier shuddered aitd drew 

away from the woman's touch. 

Slowly they climbed the dunes and made their way across a beet 
field to the house. It was a low red-tiled building, half ion, half 
tobacconist's shop. 

As they came out on the road the mother saw that all the 
shutters were now shut and that a white cloth was suspended above 
the door. 

Half a mile distant a dozen thatched cottages were visiU^ 
clustered about a tiny chapel Beyond these die dreary, uacuItivBted 
brown hills went roUtng upwards towards the sky Moira's mother 
shivered as she looked. What, she asked herself, had her daughter 
seen to paint there? She turned away and followed the woman 
into the house, along the damp corridor — that had Just been findiljr 
scrubbed, out of respect for the dead — and into a small bade 
room, also freshly scrubbed and sanded, where some tall f ndW 
threw their ruddy light upon the narrow wooden bed, corood with 
white muslin, and upon the gracefiil figure and beaotifdl bee of die 
English girl, dead at the age of twenty. The mother moved townds 
the bed as one in a dream. She saw witboat surprtie diat the 

My Pretty Moira. 315 

"done for the dead, even lo the scattering of white chrysanthe- 
mums about the still figure, had been done. She knelt at the bed- 
side, and, putting out one hand to clasp those slender ones lying 
white in death, hid her face among the lavender -perfumed draperies. 
Her whole frame was shaken by dreadful sobs ; her heart was like 
stone, and not a tear fell. 

The peasant woman watched her for some minutes, still holding 
her rosary whilst her lips moved in prayer, then shook her head 
sadly and went her way to the kitchen. There she explained lo her 
sister — whom she had summoned from the hamlet to assist her in 
her work — her maid, and the blear-eyed old sexton who had placed 
the white cloth above the inn door, that Madame was very English. 
She hadn't said anything, but she seemed pleased all the same. 

" But a woman Lke that," she added, " a woman of family, in a 
good position — for one sees at once that she is ail that — how came 
she ever to allow her daughter — so charming a young girl — to travel 
in a foreign country alone ? Thai's to say if she was alone— which 
is what I understood — when she fell in with Monsieur. That's what 
seems to me strange — that she should have permitted such a charming 
young lady to travel alone. How," she concluded, emphasising each 
word with a nod as she slowly drew a horn snuff-box from her 
capacious pocket, " how came shi lo permit thail That'swhatI keep 
asking myself." 

Alas 1 there were others besides the innkeeper's wife who asked 
that. There was the mother herself, who had sent her pretty Moira 
into the world with a girl but a year or two her senior. A girl, it is 
true, who had already seen something of Parts life, so that the 
mother had ever thought of her daughter as in safe keeping, never as 
ahne. But how many of the students of that fatal Latin Quarter of 
the gay city of Paris are there who are not, in the truest sense of the 
word, absolutely alone — who have a companion and yet are 
companionless ! 

Moira's companion was quite unfitted to play the part of guardian, 
and, indeed, never had regarded herself in that light. She considered 
Moira something of a pnide, and thought that being out in the 
world would do her good — " knock some of the nonsense out 
of her," as she phrased it when discussing her with other girls. They 
laughed, of course, though Moira's innocence annoyed rather than 
amused them. It irritated them lo see her stare in surprise, if not 
in alarm, as the ways of this strange new world were revealed to her. 

eask questions she was answer^ with questions. Really, now, ^ 
:xpect to study painting and remain in the state of innocence ^| 

3l6 The GeMttemOtis Aft^gasuu. 

of « w^y baby mapped in cotton-irool all ber life? Pafaqit dw 
proposed for herself the rile of the innocent— di ? Wdl, ttie; could 
tell ber tiat ma h rOk that wouldn't go down in Pari^ and d» 
would very quickly find herself left oat of enrrthing if die adopted 
i^ they assured her. Then, really, wMit &ult had she to find with 
their little club 7 AH the men and girls called each other I9 diet 
Christian names, it was true, but that was a sign of goo<Udlowship. 
At Paris one roust do as Paris did. It wasn't exactly a fiunily pai^. 
But they, most of them, wanted to escape domestic boredran and bmily 
parties for a season, and to amuse themsdves in their own way. IfjAr 
wasn't prepared to take her fun like other girls, irtiilst she coold get 
it, she had better go back to her mother and that ddtghtfnl doll 
little village she was so fond of talking about. Charming place it 
must be with never a man to talk to but the old patriarch (rf a doctor 
and the smooth-faced curate, who knew about as much of ttie . worid 
and the world's ways as a dickey-bird in a back kitchen, 

Moira's mother was almost as ignorant of the meaning of life in 
Paris as Moira herself. Years before, when she bad lived for a time 
in that city, she had lived under the protection erf kmng puenti, 
seeing nothing, therefore, but what those parents chose she shoold see. 
So that when Edie Hughes, Moira's companion, who had stayed with 
her a couple of days before taking Moiia abroad, indulged, with mudi 
laughter, in talk about Paris life, women's rights, and the liber^ that 
ought to be accorded to women, she put it down aa girV idle 

Too late the scales had fallen from the eyes of die broken- 
hearted mother. She now saw things as they werc^ not as ihs 
fancied them. The first rude shodc towards awakening to die 
truth had come in the form of a telegram : " lyphmd. Coma? That 

My Pretty Moira. 317 

mpossible to explain that Mademoiselle was no longer with them, 
and as sending a letter would have occasioned a delay, possibly 
anno3ang to Madame under the circumstances, they had allowed 
Madame to come without receiving explanations. Mademoiselle was 
gone further away — up the coast — to paint her picture for the Salon. 
It was there, at St Martin, she had Men ilL *' It was in this way 
she left," the woman ran on : *' all the English were going ; only a 
few Americans remained. Well, Mademoiselle was here all summer 
with the other young people — several young ladies and one or two 
young gentlemen. One day Mademoiselle's companion leaves for 
Paris, and the next day Mademoiselle tells me she is going away tc 
St Martin for her picture. Everybody says she has tremendous 

talent, you know— oh ! tremendous talent " 

** Who sent the telq;ram ? " the girl's mother interrupted her to 

" It was I," the woman answered ; " I had the news from a cousin 
of mine who came over the day before yesterday for the fite here — 
the Ducasse, you know; and, as Mademoiselle had given me her 
English address and told me she intended leaving for England at 
the end of this month, October, I searched for the address and got 
an American lady to tel^raph. She left for Paris this morning. 
But if Madame would like to see any of the other foreigners ? " 

No, Madame said, she did not wish to see any one. She would 
catch her train. 

" There, then, that is all I can tell you," said the hotel-keeper's 
wife ; " I would have gone over myself to see Mademoiselle, only you 
know what it is with the fite^ and the children at home, and every 
one coming and going. It wasn't possible." 

" My daughter isn't alone ? " the mother turned back from the 
hotel door to inquire. 

" Oh, no, no, no ! " cried the hotel-keeper's wife, eager to comfort 
her ; " she isn't alone. There are good-hearted people over there. 
They will do all they can for her — she who is so amiable and pretty, 
and so much liked by everybody— just as they would for their own." 
The woman, watching her tall and stately visitor anxiously, dared 
not prepare her to face the truth. ** No ; as for that, I understood 
that she was not alone — in the sense that there is some one with her. 
No," she said, " she has been well taken care of." But she looked 
away from the English lady, stooping to rub some dry mud from 
the bottom of her skirt as she spoke. ** Eugenie ! " she called to 
one of her maids, ^come and carry Madame's valise to the 

31 8 Th* GentiimaH's Mt^sUu, 

Her visitor thaoked her, paid for the td^nuB d»t bad been 
sent, and went slowly away to take the tnin fiat St Hirtiii. Hia^ 
in that lonely, dreary bit of world, &r from t doctor, &r from bone 
and the comrorts of home life^ so necessary at such • timc^ die 
found her daughter lying sick unto death. ** Akne I " eacfatimed 
the distracted mother, when she had eiplained «4>o she waa and 
inquired after Motra. " Then she is alone?" 

"That's to say," said the peasant wMnan — "thafs to say 
Honneur left a week ago." 

" Monsieur ? " came the startled inquiry. 

The woman attempted to retreat, tried to take bsid her words, 
stammering out that she was speaking of her other bonder, a young 
artist who had worked there for some time and bad gone away very 
soon after Mademoiselle arrived. But it was too kte. The mother 
read the vhole truth in the woman's fiue. She knew that BCoiia 
bad arrived at the inn with this " Monsieur " as wdl as if she had 
been at Sl Martin to witness their arrival. Nor was she wroog. 
Moiia had openly left the other village in company with die Frendi 
artist whom the peasant woman designated as " Monsieur " ; and no 
raie dared tell the mother the truth. Who, she asked betwlf, was diis 
"Monsieur"? Why had Moita left Miss Hi^es? Why, in Uke 
other village, had they explained nothing ? 

She tried to piece the fragments of information as she took np 
her watch beside the bed on which lay her unconsdous cbild, and 
to make out the story for herself. Who could this "Monaiear'be? 
Was he Ei^Ush ? French ? What ? Where had Moiia picked him 
up ? In Paris? In the country? 

There was no one to answer these questions. The mol h e rt 
lips almost refused to open when the woman i 

My Pretty Moira. 319 

delicate eyelids drooped over the tired eyes, the dark lashes casting 
long shadows down the thin cheeks, wasted with fever, and the long 
silky black hair flowing over the shoulders. 

There was no one now to tell the fond mother all that had 
happened, all that her child had suffered. She knelt there hour 
after hour, holding the dear hands ; not weeping much, but going 
over the whole life that ended here, from the pretty babyhood to 
the beautiful girlhood. How she had ever had the courage to part 
with her darling she could not tell. Her mind went back to that 
evening, scarcely a year ago, when she had felt the soft arms warm 
about her neck, and heard the sweet voice pleading for liberty : 
" Youll be so proud of me when 3 come home. You know you 
will. Do let me go. You will, you angel, won't you J" " Then the 
dear h'ps pressed her grey hair, the soft little hands stroked her old 
cheeks tenderly, oh, so tenderly ! "Just a winter in Paris and six 
months in the country. And then ! Besides, there's my French, 
mamsy darling. Not only would your genius — you know you think 
I'm a genius — and so do I, dear^not only would your genius rise to 
glory in that happy land of France, where they know how to appreciate 
talent, but she would improve her French. And it's so stupid 
nowadays not to know French well. I've heard you say so yourself, 
dear. There, it's all settled ! " The fond arms again pressed them- 
selves close about the mother's neck, and the matter was settled. 
To Paris Moira went — to that enchanting city, that is ever to lead 
to glory, to liberty, and leads so often other ways. 

Hour after hour the mother knelt in that silent room, till the 
afternoon was gone and night was coming on. They told her food 
was prepared for her in the next room. She could take nothing. 
Still she knelt there, praying for forgiveness. Almost unconsciously, 
at what hour she knew not, she heard a heavy cart lumber down 
the road and stop. There was the jingle of the harness and horse- 
bells, the call for a light, the opening of a door, the splashing of 
water, as some one carrying a bucket of water for the horse struck 
the bucket against a stone and upset half the contents. There were 
steps in the corridor, the heavy dragging steps of the peasants, trying 
to tread softly in their hobnail boots— showing their respect for 
the dead — and a quick, light, determined step that paused a moment 
at the door. She heard a whispering outside that roused her, then 
the latch of the door was lifted. She rose to her feet. The door 
opened, and Moira's mother found herself face to face with a tall 
handsome Frenchman, who bent his bead gravely as he caught sight 
of her. 





320 The GentUmaris Magasttu. 

" Pardon ! " he said ; " I intrude. They did not tell mt" 

Moira's mother did not know whether he had been told she mi 
there or not She was almost too exhausted to cart. She ihcUned 
her head) keepii^ her weary eyes on his as he stood, blushing 
before her. She felt almost as guilty as he looked. She nv, at ft 
glance, that he was a gentleman, and she was conscioua of ft certaio 
reli^. It was a rery lovable face she looked upon, deUcate, lefined, 
and very fair and boyish-looking, with blue eyes not unUke Motta's. 
He seemed hardly older than the girl, and agunst her will M<Mn^ 
mother was sorry for him. They r^arded each other for some 
time in silence, each trying to read the other's heart. At Ust the 
man spoke. 

" I arrive too late," he faltered, looking past the woman at the 
candles and at that white Ggure upon the bed. 

His words were like a knife piercing the woman's heart She 
threw off all her lethargy and drew in a long breath between ber 
teeth. " Ves," she said, recalling the expression of those dear ejtt, 
that had watched in vain for the opening of the door— ** too late." 

"Ah, Madame, pardon I My pretty Moiia is dead. But you will 
permit me " He made a movement in the direction of the bed. 

" No," said the mother, without raising her voice above a whisper, 
but barring the man's passage with her outstretched arm. "Na 

" I know — Madame has a right to prevent me. But a sin^ 
little prayer — what harm can that do her pure soul? I adored 
her. Yes, then, it is true. I swear to you, Madame that I adored 
her — that — that it was sAe who sent me away. There ! " Again 
he made a step forward, and again the mother barred bit ' 

My Pretty Moira. 321 

" Ah, no ! Not that ! not that ! '' cried the man. For the words 
were like a sword pointed at his heart, and he had no weapon 
of defence ; worse, he had forfeited all right to such a weapon. 

" Madame " he pled. 

^' I know," interrupted the mother, " I know that in France, 
Monsieur, the protection of young girls is almost a religion." 

" Ah, ah I" he murmured, "this is too much. Permit me " — ^he 
made a movement to retire, lifting his blue eyes for an instant to the 
woman's face— eyes more than ever like Moira's in their sorrowful 
pleading for mercy. 

As Moira's mother looked into theoi her own words recoiled 
upon her, piercing her heart with a cruel blow. What had she said ? 
" In France the protection of young girls is almost a religion 1 " Ah, 
and she — she had left her young daughter, her beautiful young 
daughter, as no French mother would have left hers, to wander in a 
world of strange temptations alone — or all but alone — uncared for, 
and all but unarmed for the fierce battle she had to fight 

She buried her foce in her hands and went quickly from the room, 
leaving the yoimg man alone there with her dead. ''God forgive 
me ! God forgive me ! " she silently implored. 

Something like an hour later she was conscious of someone 
entering the room where she sat. She looked up. The young 
Frenchman stood before her. 

" I am going," he whispered ; and presently, " Some day you will 
forgive me ? " 

Moira's mother answered nothing, neither yea nor nay. 

The young man knelt and kissed her submissive hand, then rose 
and left her. She never moved. She heard his step along the 
corridor, heard the inn door open and shut, heard his step again upon 
the road, as one in a dream. 

As one in a dream he went out into the night, a dim moonless 
night, with the stars showing vaguely overhead. He pressed to his 
lips a white chrysanthemum that had lain on the dead girl's breast 

" I will never marry. Come what comes, I will never marry," he 
murmured as he went his way. 

A fortnight later there was a little stir in one of the Paris studios 
of the Latin Quarter. A girl entered to her afternoon work, but 
instead of removing her hat and cloak as usual she flung herself on 
the nearest couch. 

" Girls," she said in an awed voice, " have you heard the news ? 
Did you hear that that pretty Moira Jackson had gone under? " 

332 The Gtntlemaiis Magtuine. 

TherewMaaonndHkealongdeqiiiaJiflirooghfliegrBt trti idio — 


•< What ? What^ that about Moiia? " nrfkd out a rich ocxitialto 
voice from the far end of the building. It wis an American woman 
who spoke, a tall, fine-looking woman, nearer Uxtf than thirty. 
" What's that about my pretty Moiia ? " She mirdied to the front 
with great strides as she ipoke. 

The girl told her story. 

"You am vouch for what you say? You are sure the giri is 
dead ? " the American woman asked, with the tears in her ^es. 

The girl nodded Uoira's mother had been in Buis making 
inquiries about her daughter, she said. 

" The brute ! " exdjumed the American wcKnan, thinking of the 
man. Then, thinking of the girl, her grey-green eyes fladied, her 
breath came quick, her bosom heaved, and she faMAedroaiid apon 
the class with a dangerous expression in her usually good-natured 

Her splendid voice rang out again. "Whose doing is this 7 "she 
demanded. " Whose tault was it that she pitted up with such a man? 
The lovingest, sweetest little creature that ever breathed. O Moita, 
my pretty Moira 1 " Her voice broke for an instant, and then was 
at war pitch again, all the toother qualities awakened in her wann 
maiden breast. "Who was her companion this summer? If only I 
can find out the woman who let her go I The man was bad But 
that woman I God have pity on the woman who left her to go off 
like that, sweet little innocent thing that she was, with her heavenly 
eyes and pretty ways. Take warning girls — if there^s any cme in this 
studio who helped her to her ruin she'd better go before she geH 
fired — I can tell her that I dont care where she belongs, ooder the 





Part II. His Famous School-book. 

THE editions of "Bucolica seu Adolescentia '^ in the British 
Museum Library are : Argentinse, 1503, 4to ; Daventrise, 
1504, 4to; Tubingse, 151I9 4to ; Hagnoias, 1517, 4to; Mantua, 1498, 
4to ; Erphordias, 1501, 4to; Paris, 1502, 4to; Paris, 1503, 4to ; 
Venetiis, 1503, 4to; Paris, 1506, 4to ; Paris, 1507, 4to; Colonise, 
15x0, 4to; Liptzck, 1510, 4to ; Deventer, 1514, 4to; Paris 
(?) 1520, 8vo; Brixias, 1545, Svo; London, 1573, 8vo; London, 
1582, i6mo; London, 1627, 8vo ; London, 1649, i2mo; London, 
1652, 8vo ; Cambridge, 1635. 

Buisson mentions other editions in 1507 and 151I1 and two others 
in 15x4 (" Repertoire des Ouvrages P^dagogiques du XVI* Sifecle"). 

My own copy bears title-page as follows : 

Baptista Mantuani CarmeUta Theologi AdolescenHa seuBucoiica^ 
bremhus lodod Badii commentariis illustrata. His accesserunt 
Toannis MurmeUi in singulas Eciogas argutnentum^ cum annota- 
tiunculis eiusdem in ioca aliquot obscuriara, Accessit tt index 
non Hie vefus, et indigestus^ sed norms omninOy ac locupletior multo^ 
opera Barthol, Laurentis, Londini excudebat Robertus Robinsonus^ 
MDXCV. Cum Privilegio Regia Mates tatis. 

No one can peruse such an edition of Baptista Mantuan without 
being struck by the wealth of explanatory and critical apparatus with 
which he is introduced. The text has to be fished out from a sea of 
commentary. We can understand the hot indignation of Scaliger 
and Famaby, great classical scholars, living in an age in which the 
reputation of Baptista Mantuan in the schools seemed to eclipse the 
very classics themselves. Antiquity was summoned to become a 
cloud of witnesses to a scarecrow of a Vergil. Not only antiquity, 
but the intervening world of Paganism and Christianity, past and 

324 The GenilemaiCs Magtt$m$. 

contemponneoas. Vergil, induding hia Bucolkt, Geoi^ct, wbA 
JExaaA, is dted as if his main pnipose were to iUostnte BaptaA. 
Horace is appealed to as if oa occasion he could diacoss prineqitei 
of poeti; founded on Baptista. Cicero aeenu to have fallen, by 
acddent or design, upon Baptista's phiases. We seem to live in 
an inverted world. It is all the more iUusive becanse it is an no- 
doubted world of classical research. 

White the altitude of Classidsta can thus be undentood, a 
study of the editions of Baptista Mantnan's Eclogues brings ont a 
further reason for their attractiveness as a school text-bocA. Wth 
so many parallel passages brought before the pu[Hl from dasskal 
authors, Mantuan becomes the p^ on which to hang Hamriflal 
instruction. Mantuan, therefore, easily passed from Uie position of 
being an author — safe from the rel^ous point of view — ^read for his 
own sake, to that of an author read as an introduction to the' 

The notes of Jodocus Badius ' are simple, clear, and interestiiig, 
and supply a considerable storehouse of classical aUusion — litenry, 
geographical, historical No pupil could have been taken tfaroa^ 
the Edc^es, with the inteispeised notes, without having acquired a 
background of reminiscences of quotations from Vergil, Cicero^ 
Martial, Persius, Lucan, and many other classical wiiten, and ol 
course the New Testament, which at least familiarised him with « 
world of culture which lay at bis feet. The mind classically ityrlinwl 
would thus come to its own, and other influences in the later at H e euUi 
and seventeenth centuries impelled the pupil to proceed, in spite of 
the religious tendencies of the age, which bade the aspirant to be 
on bis guard against the suspect shortcomings and supentitinu of a 
pagan literature. It is not enough to consider a school-book fiom 

BapHsta Mantuan: In the Schoolroom. 325 

The type of notes offered by Badius may be illustrated by giving 
the opening lines of Mantuan's first Eclogue, and indicating the 
nature of Badius's commentary on them. 

Eclogue I. 

Treating of honest Love and its happy success, entitled Faustus. 
The Speakers : Fortunatus and Faustus. 

Fanste, precor, gdida quando pecus omne sob nmbra 
Rmninat, antiqnos paulum redtemns amores ; 
Ne, si forte sopor nos occnpet, nlla fenurum, 
Qiue modo per segetes tadte insidiantar adoltse 
Seeviat in pecudes : melior vigilantia somno. 

. The following is Thomas Harvey's ^ translation : 

I piay thee, Faustus, while the cattle chew 
In the cool mead their cud, let us review 
Our former loves ; lest idle while we stay. 
Or £U1 asleep, some cruel beasts of prey 
Amid the ripened com that slily creep. 
Seize on our cattle. Better wake than sleep. 

The notes of Badius, of course, are in Latin. I will now give 
the gist of his notes on the above lines. It will be observed that 
the notes run on without clear divisions — in exposition, explanation, 
parallel passages, order of words, etc. Indeed, were it not that the 
text is in verse, and is printed in italic characters, there would 
be no division between text and notes. 

Badius in his notes claims that Mantuan was a born poet, for he 

* There have been two translators into English of Mantuan *s Eclogues : George 
Turbervilein 1567, and Thomas Harvey, Gent., in 1656. The translations given 
in this article are from Harvey. The foUowing is the title-page of Turbervile's 
translation : 

The Eglogs of the Poet B. Mantuan, Carmelitan, turned into English Verse, 
and set fonh with the Argument to every Egloge by George Turbervile, Gent. 

Anno 1567. 

Imprinted at London in Pater noster Rowe, at the signe of the Marmayde, by 

Henrie Bynneman. 

There were further editions in 1572 and 1594. 

In Dedication to the right worshipful and his good Uncle, Maister Hugh 
Bamfild, Esquier, says : 

** They were not in that age such silly sots as our shepherds are nowadays, 
only having reason by experience to prate of their pastures, and fold and unfold 
their flocks. But these fellows, whom the Poet and I have here brought in, were 
well able both to move the doubtful cause, and (if modem) to decide the proponed 
case. TKey not only knew the calf from the lamb^ the wolffian the mastiffs but 
had reason to know the difference between town cmd country^ the odds betwixt vice 
md virtue^ and other things iMAJfW and apportaining totheHfe tfman.^ 

326 TJU Gtntkmaris Magtudim. 

had written this eclogae before he entered into rdigiout eida% and 
had throughout been penneated with tbedenre to singof faoooiudik 
love, than which subject there is Dooe mote wocOtyof muL Otbei^ 
indeed, of his compatriots had sut% in similar words, of dtshonestiad 
slippery (lubrids) loves. Henoe one superiority oi Wanfii^n T^e 
persons introduced, Fanstas and Fortunatua, ate so called from Htcff 
rdk and that which happens in the eclogue; ** For other is of good 
import, as we find in the pbtases : Fortunate senex, etc Et, forttmatot 
nimium, bonasisnanorintjagricolas. And again, O fbitunati, cjoonim 
iam mcenia surgunt So, too, Faustus is so called as if ant Sivote 
auctus, aut favore stans. The order of the words is (we shall not 
always give ±e order, because it is not e veiy w li e i e necessary) : O 
Fauste, quando (Le. quandoquidem) omne pecuanmnnat (}m. remandit 
prius in ventrem immissa) sub umlna gdida (^e. temperie fripda). 
Persius also says : Et parrula peons omne sub ulmo est Ergc^ 
precor, redtemus amores antiquos (Le. honestos, quale* ennt antiquis). 
Whence, Fhavoriaus in Gellius, in the eleventh chapter, in T^Ung 
to a youth of antiquity, said : You say that the old pleases yon 
because it is honourably good, sober, and modest. Lire Uieteftice 
with the old morals, speak with present-day words. The old is 
usually received as dear because the oldest friends, and wio^ and 
other things which are the oldest, are the most esteeine4> So 
Macroblus in the first Saturnalia thinks there is nothiog <dder tbui 
instruction. But I rather think that the noble and the <A1 dxwld be 
conjoined. Unless that were so, Servius would iiave it that lore is 
unstable. For unity must be brought into the number of nobility 
and of religion. Yet Cicero is to be cited that love should be 
honest. In the De Officiis he says : Faciem honesd ridei^ quK s 
oculis cemeretur, amabiles amores (ut ait Plato) ezcitaret si 

Baptista Mantuan: In the Schoolroom. 327 

remarkable rapidity, and this, I think, may be ascribed in no small 
degree to the cooperation of Jodocus Badius. 

The first five lines I have quoted firom Baptista's first Eclogue 
have become very famous. We have seen how the ire of Thomas 
Famaby was roused by the preference of contemporaries for the 
Fauste^ pncor^ geUda over the Anna frirumque cano. Mantuan had 
the honour of fixing his first line on Shakespeare's mind, and thus 
securing the attention at least of annotators *'for all time." 
Holofemes, in " Love's Labour's Lost," * says : " Fauste, precor gelida 
quando pecus omne sub umbra Ruminat — and so forth. Ah, good 
old Mantuan I I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice : 

Veneda, Venetia, 

Chi non ti vede son ti preda. 

Old Mantuan, old Mantuan ! who understandeth thee not, loves 
thee not." 

Baptista, in a word, had the good fortime to appeal both to the 
general public and to the world of schoolmasters. Mr. J. H. Lupton ' 
suggests that Baptista's popularity as " a school-author in this country 
may have been due to Colet's recommendation," and elsewhere 
notes that Colet possibly met Baptista ' at Paris in 1494. Alexander 
Barclay, who published five eclogues about 15 14, and b generally 
reputed the first English writer^ of eclogues, says in his prologue : 

* IV. ii. 95. Professor T. Spencer Baynes wrote a valuable series of articles 
for Fraser's Maga%ine^ Nov. 1879, J^ui* ^^'^ May 1880, on what Shakespeare 
learnt at school (afterwards republished in Shakcsptare^s Studies and other 
Essays. Longmans 1896). Baynes quotes the passages from Shakespeare, 
Barclay, and Hoole which occur in this article, and refers to several others, which 
I give. He is scarcely correct, however, in referring to Alexander Barclay as 
the author of the Ship of Fools^ since it is weU known that that work was an 
English adaptsuion of Sebastian Brant's Narrenschiff, It is worth noting that the 
splendid edition of Mantuan's works in 15 13 has commentaries on some of the 
works by Sebastian Brant. Mr. Sidney Lee, in his Life of Shakespeare, says : 
** The eclogues of the popular Renaissance poet Mantuanus were often preferred 
to Virgil's, for beginners." I may perhaps here add the testimony of M. Buisson 
in his S^bastien Casteliion, sa vie et son auvre. Speaking of that writer's 
Bucolicorum autores xxxuiii, . . . farrago eclogorum chn., amongst other 
eclogues, he says, there are in this volume of Castellion 'Mes Italiens, depuis 
le 'grand' Pontano jusqu'li Baptiste Mantouan, ce Virgile de llmprovisation 
dont les dix ^logues avaitnt Hi traduites dans toutes les iangues,** (Vol. i. 
p. 287. ) Thomas Lodge, in his Defence of Poetry , Music, and Stage Plays ( 1579), 
says : " Miserable were our state if we wanted those worthy volumes of poetry. 
Could the learned bear the loss of Homer? or our younglings the writings of 

* Life of Colet, p. 169. » Jiid, p. 67. 

* Pzofessor Saintsboiy's description, « adapter " of eclogues, is possibly better 
{Social England^ vol, iii. p. 133). 

338 Tk« Gtntkmuis Ma^uim. 

FC ktdy ia oat di|pci 
ttemptad the mdm wkjci 

As the mott Emtuhh Baptiit Hintoui, 
TIk bnt of that lort BOee poett fint bcsuL 

The fourth and fiAh, at any rate, of Baiday^ eclogues, it may be 
noted, are unacknowledged direct imitations <^ B^^itista **»Tifni(n^ 
tbou^ Baiday's fourth eclogue adds one tbooaand additiooal Una 
to Mantoan's, and his fifth extends Mantuan's from two bundled to 
one thousand lines.* 

The Jviute, pneor, geHda quandeptaa emme ttii itmira JStaminai, 
ai the opening line of Baptisu's Eclogues, is the most frequently 
quoted. But there is another, rendered bmous by the offer which 
Samuel Johnson had made to him of ten guineas to state the source 
of Semel iHsamrnmus ammes. He could not give the answer at fint, 
but, as is related in Boswell,* he aftenrards met it by chance in 
Johannes Biqitista Mantuanus (Eclogue I.) : 

Dr. Biikbeck Hill refera us to Johnson's opinion:* "ScaUger 
complained that Mantuan's Bucolics were received into school^ 
and taught as dasdcal. His complaint was vain, and the piactiee^ 
however injudicious, spread far and continued long. Mantnan was 
read, at least in some of the inferior schools of this kingdom, to the 
beg^tung of the present (eighteenth) century." 

Before proceeding to describe the subject-matter of the Eclogue^ 
It seems convenient to add here the method suggested by diaries 
Hoole of treating Mantuan in actual school practice; This is given 
in the " New Discovery of the Old Art of Teaching School," published 

BapHsia Mantuan: In the Schoolroom. 329 

Sentences, which they may commit to a paper book ; and afterward 
resolve the matter of their lessons into an English period or two, 
which they may turn into proper and el^ant Latine, observing the 
placing of words, according to prose. Thus out of the five first 
verses in the first Eclogue. 

Fauste, precor, gelida quando pecus omne sub nmbra 
Ruminat, antiqaos paulum redtemus amores ; 
Ne, si forte sopor nos occupet, alia ferarum, 
Quse modo per segetes tadte iosidiantur adultas 
Sseviat in pecudes : melior vigilantia sonmo. 

one may make such a period as this : 

*' Shepherds are wont sometimes to talk of their old loves, whilst 
the cattle chew the cud imder the shade ; for fear, if they should fall 
asleep, some fox or wolf^ or such like beast of prey, which either 
lurk in the thick woods or lie in wait in the grown com, should fall 
upon the cattle. And, indeed, watching is far more commendable 
for a prince or magistrate than immoderate or unseasonable sleep. 

*' Pastores aliquando, dum pecus sub umbra ruminat, antiquos 
suos amores redtare solent ; ne, si sopor ipsos occupet, vulpes, aut 
lupus, aut aliqua eius generis fera praedabunda, quae vel in densis 
sylvis latitant, vel per adultas segetes insidiantur, in pecudes ssviat ; 
immo enimvero, principi vel magistratui vigilantia somno immodico 
ac intempestivo multo laudabilior est. And this will help to 
prepare their invention for future exercises, by teaching them to suck 
the manow both of words and matter out of all their authors." ^ 

It might seem as if Hoole's purpose in such exercises were 
chiefly to cultivate in his pupils the power of good composition. 
No doubt he wished to develop such ability, but it is not going too 
far to say that his chief desire was to bring his pupils as soon as 
possible to speak Latin fluently. In the very next paragraph he 
requires on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons regular exercise in 
Colloquys^ and gives such detailed instructions as will make pupils '* in- 
dustriously labour every day for variety of expressions, and encourage 
them much to discourse when they know themselves to be certain in 
what they say, and that they can so easily come by Latin to speak 
their minds on any occc^ionP 

Thus the Eclogues of Mantuan further appealed to the school- 
masters of the sixteenth and seventeenth centiuies because they 
consisted of conversations ; even if sometimes artificial, they intro- 
duced, at any rate, a fair amount of easy, familiar, conversational 

> Hoole suggests that sometimes, instead of Mantuan, Castalion's Dialogues oj 
BihU'History may be taken instead. 

VOL. ccxcvii. NO. ao86, a a 

laBoB^ of the taplmi 
)M.ii> cc vo^wii; the CM^ cif 
yoas I :&e ntl^ of the 

rMt pais ^ ICuBBtt nc M bed 

'Smii-fw */-fc^ i ^ t^ g> h '^a^ i h Jf h ^l^ i^ CBkVBtf erf 

The SeaaJe 9ci s ict- I c. 3«dL ccQod. 

Doh la ttaap seairnedly br Ki : 

Ot coid it tf as ice, o> t>x >* ns : 

Or ibe win deartj k>rc, eg ifd)j ^xc. 

Woold ibeseemgnTc? Too saOoilT ifae lovcn : 

Baptisia Maniuan: In the Sckoolroom. 331 

Stated briefly, the subjects of the Eclogues are love, religion, the 
relations of poets and w^thy men, and the manners of the Roman 
court Two only of the Eclogues deal with peasant life, the 
supposed particular function of the Eclogues, viz. the sixth, entitled 
" De Disceptatione rusticorum et civium,'' and the eighth, *< De 
Rusticorum religione." 

The Eclogues which deal with love are scarcely satisfactory to 
the modem mind, not that they are objectionable in treatment, but 
rather that there are other subjects more appropriate, and also more 
interesting to children. For apparently Hoole considers that the 
normal age for boys in his third Form, in which Mantuan is used, is 
from nine to ten years of age. 

In the fifth Edogue, treating of the behaviour of rich men towards 
poets, there are passages of poetic feeling cast in the pastoral mould 
The following is perhaps a ^drly representative passage : 

Then in December, m those winter nights, 

To sit before the fire it much delights. 

And there in th' ashes (for a sporting trick) 

To plough up furrows with a little stick ; 

To roast ripe chestnuts there, and them all over 

With embos till they roasted are, to cover ; 

With full fill'd glasses of refined wine 

To quench our thirst, to please our taste. In fine, 

Among the merry spinning maids to sit, 

And hear them tell a tale, and laugh at it 

Great Titjrrus * himself (as Fame doth ring). 

By leam'd Msecenas patronised, did sing 

More lofty strains of fiurms, fields, cattle, wars. 

And with his high raised notes did reach the stars ; 

Dame Fortune gave him eloquence : But us 

Poor weak plebeians, aU bepatched thus, 

Disguis'd with leanness, fed with coarsest grain. 

The Muses shun, Apollo doth disdain. 

This is indeed far removed from the serene austerity of Milton in 
the " II Penseroso " : 

Or let my lamp at midnight hour 
Be seen in some high lonely tower : 

as far removed as the maids' gossipy stories were likely to be from 

Him that left half told 
The story of Cambuscan bold. 

But, at least, Mantuan shows the homely, simple rusticity not 
altogether unbecoming in the writer of bucolics. *' Eclogues," says 
George Puttenham in the "Art of English Poesie,"* '* represent 

» /.#. Vergil. « 1589. 


332 Th4 GentUmafis Maguku. 

rustical manner of loves, and may insinuate a glanoe at greater 
matters. . . • Afterwards, tliey came to contain and infimn mond 
discipline for the amendment of man's betumonr, as be those of 
Mantuan and other modem poets." In Edogne VL, Mantmn 
treats of '* greater matters" in a comparison of tfie dty and the 
country. The general direction of his r^ections will be seen by 
the lines : 

Whence come tamnltiioiis wtis sad horrid arms, 

VHiicli cany with them whalaoefer hanns. 

Whatever e?il is within the waOs 

Of cities, as from their originals. 

As from their foimtains, aU these mischiefs qning. 

Lycaon was a dtisen, a king, 

Deucalion, with his beloved wife 

Pyrrha, were coantty-dwelleis all their life, 

Tliat fafought the dehige, this removed thesune. 

That mined mankind, this did man reframe. 

If ever (as they say) these goodfy frames 

Of skies, earth, seas, shall be oonsomed with flames. 

This heavy judgment doubtless will come in 

For sins of citizens, for cities* sins. 

In Eclogue VII. a shepherd, Pollux, the best of pipers, has taken 
religious vows. One of the speakers, Galbula, gives a history of 
shepherds, showing their antiquity and dignity. The story of the 
life of Pollux is given. To avoid the malice of his stepdame and 
the rage of his father, who had made his life intolerable, he had 
even resolved to leave his beloved maid and run away. But he meets 
with the apparition of a country virgin, crowned with a maiden 
coronet, nymph-like, full of grace, who bade him join the Carmelites. 
If he will go, then she promises : 

Thou shalt immortal be, shalt from these clods 
Of earth have fellowship among the gods. 
Thou shalt have residence above the br^ht 
Refulgent stars, among the nymphs in white ; 
Among the njnnphs of trees, the nymphs of hills ; 
The nymphs of flowers, whence sweet perfume distils. 
Whose heads are crowned with odoriferous flowers. 
With odoriferous herbs ; where thou the powers 
That are above shalt see ; where thou shalt know 
What heavens are above thee, what below. 

And the young man will live his life in the retired cell, 

In those sweet woods, where in abundance grows 
The lofty fir-tree, where with unctuous bou^^ 
The frit and oily terebinth doth shine 
With sweating rosin, pitch, and turpentine 

Baptista Mantuan: In the Sckoolroom. 333 

Thus even the idea of religion is brought into connection with 
rustic environment and simplicity of a life in closest touch with 
Nature, and almost, as anthropologists would suggest, with the ideas 
of paganistic animism. At any rate, there is still the affirmation of 
the advantage of the country over the town. 

What power over cattle we possess, 
Th' Immortal Gods have over us no less, 
This is enough for countrymen to know ; 
Let cities higher soar, and wiser grow. 

The eighth Eclogue is remarkable as showing in a still more 
remarkable degree the blending of popular survivals with the 
Catholic dogma. In this Eclogue Candidus commends the moun- 
tains,^ Alphus the dales. Candidus gives as a reason for high 
monasteries : 

Add here that from the tops of mountains high 

'Tis a short passage to the starry sky : 

Some mountains with their lofty crests aspire 

Unto the clouds, some other mounting higher 

Transcend the clouds, and with their proud ascent 

They touch, I think, the spangled firmament. 

There is a place (they say) that eastward lies, 

Where from the seas the morning sun doth rise, 

Which (if I have it not forgot too soon) 

With its aspiring top doth touch the moon ; 

And that long since a man there lived and dwelled, 

But for his gluttony was thence expelled, 

Because that he devoured aU th' apples there. 

And none reserved for mighty Jupiter. 

Hence the divine and holy Fathers chose 

Retired houses, places of repose 

Among the mountains : This do weU attest 

Carthnsia, Carmel, Gargan ; with the rest 

Athos, Laveme, Laureta, Sina's Mount, 

. . . and that hiU of state, 

Towered Camaldula, whose sacred head 

With lofty fir-trees is environed. 

On the other hand, the dales can claim the detail of pastoral 
wealth of com and wine, cattle and sheep, and all the products of 
the harvest 

But in the matter of religion the man of the valleys has his 
advantage as well as the hill-man. In the sacred valley temples 
are paintings on the wall and imagery which tied the mind to the 
Nymph-like saint, "whose praise I count the greatest praise of all." 

* The mountains are praised as the source of rivers, as the place of rare metals, 
of trees for shipping, of herbs, of springSt of vigorous and gigantic men. 

334 "^^ GeniUman's M^gusuu. 

Thcre'i now no need to follow nude Fna, 
Or U17 nml gods, which foolith taut 
Did <M it ii leported) becctoEiwe 
With much devodon, but in Tkin, sdoK. 

Pollux, the peasant, implores "the Nymph," fidliag on his knees 
devoutly on the marble pavement before her altar. Buickhudt ' 
refening to this passage says : " What c(»icepti<»is they wepe^ which 
the people formed of their protectress in heaven ! Foi the Madonna 
is by Mantuan pastonlly described as the Nymph." Pollux prays : 

O Goddess, governess of towns and frsjiks. 

We pmy thee, let not Po »weU o'«- Us banks : 

I^ not, O let not the nocturnal hag 

Oar leader infimts throngh black dukaesa drtg : 

Let not hot^oblins nor the walking sprite 

Frequent our atreels by day, nor hoiue by night. 

O Goddess, bvom husbandmen, destroy 

The moles, whose heaped-up hillt the fields annoy : 

Remember (Nymph), when winter sharply blows. 

To cover all the corn with dews, with siows. 

O let no vermin, when the com is shorn, 

The next ensuing year devour the com. 

The DortbeiTi winds &om growing figi restrain ; 

From cnulei the beans, from geese defend the grain : 

From serpents oxen, from the subtle fox. 

The subtler thief, preserve our herds, our flocks ; 

The fruits from canker, vines from hail and storms. 

From wolves the cattle keep, from herbs the worms. 

And SO Pollux continues, praying the Virgin, as the patroness of all 
things rustic, against madness in dogs, and to preserve the villagei 

Baptista Mantuan: In the Schoolroom. 335 

Rome Is the same to men as is an owl 
To birds ; she sitting as the queen of fowl, 
And proudly nodding on some withered stock. 
Calls multitude of birds, which thither flock 
All ignorant of fraud ; where in amaze 
At her foul head, great eyes and ears, they gase. 
They wonder at her hooked beak's threatening top, 
And on the branches while they skip and hop, 
Now here, now there, the nets totsjsgle some. 
The lime-twigs others ; all that thither come 
Are overcome, are made the fowler's prey, 
And to be roasted, thence are borne away. 

The tenth Eclogue deals with controversies between the observant 
and non-observant friars, and winds up with lines which well sum 
up the position of Mantuan as to the older and the new orders, 
whilst they reflect to some extent the more general position of 
Mantuan's age to antiquity. The lines are put into the mouth of 

Trace out that path, those ancient ways transact 
Of your forefitthers. Keep that older tract. 
Recall your wandering flocks within their pales 
From dens of savage beasts, from rocks, from vales. 
And in those older fields, that ancient plain. 
Erect your shepherds' cottages again. 

The central point of Mantuan's importance is his adaptation to 
the needs of his time. The reference back to antiquity, both in the 
Eclogues themselves and in the copious notes of Badius, helped 
to reveal the classical world. It may even be said that Mantuan 
furthered the Discovery of the World and of Man, the essence of the 
Renascence movement, as Burckhardt describes it. Indeed, Mantuan 
accomplished much. The Eclogues became, as we see from Charles 
Hoole, an introduction to the older classical writers. No one can 
doubt the stimulating effect of Mantuan's writings to his contem- 
poraries and his successors. When E. K. commended Edmund 
Spenser, in the Epistle prefixed to the Shepherd's Calendar (1579), he 
spoke of the Eclogues as a natural form of composition for a poet to 
attempt in all the freshness of young strength, because of the lowHness 
of the matter and homeliness of the style appropriate to it. " As young 
birds that be newly crept out of the nest, by little first to prove their 

* Cardinal Bembo was one of the best-known writers in both Latin and 
Italian of his time. He was one of those fastidious precisians whom Erumus 
attacks in his Ciunnianm, Hallam describes Bembo as one of the most 
important writers of the sixteenth centuiy in the <* art of reviving the consum* 
mate grace and richness of the period of Goero." 

336 Th4 GttUUmanis 

tender wing! bdbretluT make I gtciter ffi^ So flnr TteKribH ; 
M yoa DUf perceiTC he ««s Hoxa&j foil Bedged. So flnr Vnpl, n 
not yet wdl feding bii wings. So flew Mantoai^ u not bong foO 
Ruamed. So Petiarch. So Boccace. So ManN^ Sanaauta* In 
odier worda, MaQlnaD takes his place, in die critic^ co n te m pamy 
view, with those writefs. Edmund Spenaer is ndiered to the worid 
as a writer of eclogues, on the gnmnd that be is a worthy fiAows of 
Hantuan.^ There was a period in Eratmns'* life when be was beat 
known by bis poetiy.' In writing a letter to a friend, teqiecting one 
of his efforts, he says : " I send yoa a few veises with wfatdi I latdy 
amused my leisure when taking a countiy walk by the nde of a 
stream, and in which you must not look for the felidty of Maro^ the 
sablimity of Lucan, the cc^iousness of Naso, oc the seductiTeneas 
and learning of Baptista Mantuanus." 

Mantuan must therefore be allowed to have had merit in tbe 
sixteenth century — for Erasmus and Edmund Spensei are no mean 
witnesses. It is not merely that his pen was &dl^ or that his Latin 
was of a sound standard. It is not only that be bdooged to the old 
church, whilst he satisfied its critics. He did more. He intopreted 
his modem world in terms of the old. He kept tbe "older ttac^" and 
" informed moral discipline for the amendment of men's beharioar." 
He was, in the opinion of those of bis contemporaries and successors 
competent to judge of tendencies in the sixteenth century, a " safe " 
man. For that very reason he was not likely to become a dasdc 
for all time. Too much may readily be looked for from him by those 
who read contemporary pan^yrists. But it is a characteristic of 
every generation that the most effective translators of the sjHrit <tf 
the age to the people and to the schools are not those whot in the 
perspective of the future, become the cynosure of the literary critic. 

BapHsta Mantuan: In the Schoolroom* 357 

of Mantuan as a school-book. It is necessary to say *' almost" 
unique, for I take it that the Colloquies of Corderius occupied a 
somewhat similar position to Mantuan in the seventeenth century. 

One further consideration with r^ard to Mantuan must be 
added. It is not accurate to speak of one age in terms coined to 
eipress the attitude of another, four centuries apart ; but my mean- 
ing will be dear, and all necessary deductions can be made, if 
Mantuan is described as a representative in the sixteenth century 
of what we, in the twentieth century, caU "Nature-study." He 
insists on the pleasure of the country, of landscape, of rural joy in 
the seasons, of the picturesque and the useful in the fields, the rivers, 
the mountains, and the valleys. He teaches the value of the 
simplicity of life, of that contentment with a modicum of material 
possessions, which in itself is an effective substitute for wealth, of the 
pleasure of simple intercourse, of the horror of the inhuman side 
of city life. Such Arcadian life is not merely an artificial convention. 
It is a spirit of content, which easily lends itself to moral and 
religious issues. It is a spirit, too, which yet has to penetrate the 
schools, and one which Nature-study to-day will have to undertake. 
We constantly hear of the moral import of manual training, if 
educationally carried out This is none the less true of Nature- 
study. We hear to-day, and surely rightly, of the correlation of 
literature with Nature-study. This is precisely the combination 
which seemed to the writers of the sixteenth century to be pre- 
sented in Mantuan. His critics, in their severity, said of him that 
he was a peasant's poet. If we accept the judgment, Mantuan 
is not without his justification. For his love of the peasants 
is real ; his love of his country is real. It is the note of joyful 
observation of Nature around him which Mantuan strikes, which 
we, too, wish to get — still more clearly than he was able — into our 
teaching. Let us then, at least, acknowledge the wisdom of the 
sixteenth century in not leaving unconsidered in the schools the joys 
and sorrows of the peasant. And let us not forget, in the midst of 
the religious and social struggles of his age, the figure of the "good 
old Mantuan " solacing his soul in singing : 

In my country now 
The lowly brooms, the lofty vines do blow 
Along the banks of Po, the pastures' sides 
Where Mindus with silvered water glides : 
There now the corn is eared ; with blossoms red 
Pomegranate trees now there are aU bespread : 
The frondent alder there (this month of May) 
Doth sweet white flowers on each hedge display. 


The Genllemais J%AiAh^.'^^ 

AppkndixA. Louis Moreri. "LeGnnd 
1740, vol viii p. 347. 

Spagn(u)oU Batiste, called Mantuan aa a native id Haatua, was bom 
in the year 1448, and according to Paul Joviua waa fautaid of the.ftoaly 
of Spagnoli at Mantua. The testimony <rf this authOT is fiUnfied by dntt 
of diveis others. Spagnoli took habit amongst regions CahndilBt aS 
the congregation irf Mantua, and was six t' 
showed much leal in maintaining this itSana and the ■ 
of the order. He strongly opposed Father Harz of I 
FrocureuT-G^n^ral of the order, who wished to get die idigioos of die 
coi^cregation of Mantua to give up the tan colour (la auiatr tammiii to 
take the black. Father Baptista opposed even the canying into c~~ 
of a letter &am Pope Sixtus IV. which Father Maix had ol 
pretext of getting uniioimity into the order. A comi 
was appointed, who upheld the congregation of Mantua in 6ie mage of 
their tan colour. In 1513 he was obliged to accqM the boid^ a€ 
General, and died March 30, 1516, aged 78 years. We have faia woilc) 
in four volumes, collected by Father Laurentius Guyler of Bmsaeb^ 
and printed at Antwerp. He had a very &dle genius for poetry; but 
he was injured, in the opinion of Lilius Giraldus, by having annpoMf 
too much. However, his fecundity was surprising, for he has con^KMM 
over 55,000 verses. Trithemius renders him excessive priil^ J<#Mntt 
Pontanus, Pico della Mirandcda, Philip Beroald, Baronim, and adwr 
writers speak also very flatteringly of him. He was a good theoiagiU, 
good philosopher, and passed for the most excellent poet of hia timt. 
That was the reason why Frederic I., Duke of Mantua, in 1530^ had a 
triumphal arch erected in the most beautiful part of the dty to bear tlw 

Bapiista Mantuan : In tke Schoolroom. 339 

atque sanciissinia tua poeraaU, in quibus ea renim majestas, is splendor 
est eloquentiie, ut certatitn in illis palmam sibi vindicare verba atque 
sententiie videantur. Hoc unum dixero, delectari nie adeo lectione 
tuonim canninum, ut fere quotidic, aim mc vel tedium vel fatigalio 
ccepcrit, in ilia quasi in horium delhiarum solitus siin secedere, unde 
animo tanta semper oboricur voluptas, ut oihil cupiat magis quam iterum 
^tigari, ut iterum recreetur, etc. H;ec Picus anno 1490. 

(4) Joannes Jovianus Pontanus (in 1499) in epist. Et initsc, inquit, 
Romee, memor sum amicitii^ ; et ingenii tui exceltens ^ 
pene singulis id efficit, tit doctrinal, vel summa eliam cum admin 
meminerim tuK, An ejus obliviscar, quem Latinas Musse 
bilem modo, venim maxtme etiam admirabilem, et nostris faciunt, et 
fututis factur^e suat sa^culis ? Mitto ad le degustatiunculas ex Historia 
mea quasdam, qua: aures fortasse non omnino ofTendenL Tu paucis 
ex his conjiccre poteris reliqua. Est enim in manibus de Poeticis 
□umeris, deque histories lege Dialogvs, De magnan imitate tiber : De 
sieliis volumen abunde magnum, item De fortuna, quibus absoivendis, 
vel expuigandis poiius, do operam, quorum post judex ipse futunis es. 

(5) Philippus Beroaldus in epist. Perlegi, inquit, nuper divina dtvin 
Baptists Cannelitje poemata, quJE evidenter ostenduni parentem renim 
naturam in progenerandis poeticis ingeniis haudquaquam decoxisse, 
Mantuamque nobis alterum Maroncm ex Palingenesia Pythagortca 
reddidisse. Equidem vates omnes piiscos adorandos puio, maximeque 
Virgilium, cul hie noster proximus, longo quidem intervallo, sed lamen 
proximus, iti quo ingenium copiasum, et miia doctrinie multijugec 
ftclicitas exubeiat, fcecundus prorsus artifex, utpoie qui versuam miUia 
plurima condiderit. Cujus poemata tersa, ecudiia, consummata, pre se 
(<:rUDt quandam facilitatem fcelicissimam, qux omnia commendat 
lacilitas scriptoris, et doctrina reljgiosior el Ecclesiasticum dogma inter- 
texium, quibus veluti pigmentis preciosis colorata splendescunt. Merito 
ilaque vivens ea fruitur gloria, quam post cineres paucissimi conscquuntur, 
eamque vivus sentit, quae post fata priestari magis solet, venecationero, 
interest posterilati sua^ monstraturque digito pnetcreuntiam, nee solum 
liabetur in manibus et ediscitur, verum etiam in Scholis enarratur, et 
inde saiuberrima lymnculis dictata grammatistx praescribunt. Gaudeo 
ipse mecum et gestio, quod talem virum non solum familiaiem noverim, 
sed eliam habeam confessorem. Ha;c Beroaldus, 

[There were two Philip Beroaldes, father and son. The father is 
probably the writer of the letter from which the above quotation is taken. 
Moreri says of him that he was a man of very wide reading, but he 
lacked judgment. He chiefly applied himself to bringing to light the 
most obscure writers of antiquity, and had a passion for using old words 
which had a long time disappeared from the Latin language as used. 
The son is placed by Lilius Gyraldus amongst the excellent poets of his 

After quoting the above testimonies, Peter Lucius adds ; Celerum 
quod ad ejus statuam marmoream attinet, ea Mantua; (velit nolit Jovius) 



340 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

pie coQSpidtur in arcu triumphali e redone Franciscanonim monasMin, 
dextnim ViTgilio, sintstnim Mantuano, darissimi Mantnanonim Har- 
chionis quarti Francisd latus claudente, cum tali elogio : 

Aigumentum ntrique ingeos, n Meda coireDt. 

To the account of Mantuan given by Peter Lucius, M. A. Alegie de 
Casanate has added but little in his " Paradisus Caimelitid Decoris* 
(1639), but the following passage shows how Mantuan's reputatim had 
developed into the miraculous. Speaking of the death of Mantuan, 
Alegre goes on : 

Suse maxims sanctiiatis nomen odoriferum linquens, ut testantur 
Horatius Pancirolus et Horatius Tunellinus ; comprobatque Possevini, 
ex Lucio, testimonium asserentis quod corpus B. Patris, post mnltos 
annos integrum, clarum et nitens, cum exuviis habitus sui, quibus 
humatum ftierat, nectareum fundens odorem, inter multa corpora fratnun 
suonmi, cum quibus priroum fiierat humatum, tabe jam sanieque cor* 
rupta, repertum fueriL Quae res maxime movit populum, ut communi 
xre, cum clara adhuc sanctitatis viri vigeret opinio, nittdiori (quo hnc- 
usque conspicitur reneratum, et frequentatum a multis, votorum causa 
ponun, confluentibus) exstructo dauderetur prope altare maius busta 

Appendix C. References in English Writers to Mantuan. 

The following passage shows the general view of the Eclogue in 
Elicabethan England. 

WiUiam Webbe, "A Discourse of English Poetrie," 1586. 1 will 
nowe speake a little of an other kinde of poetical writing, which mif^t 
notwithstanding, for the variablenesse of the argument therein usually 
handled, bee comprehended in those Idndes before declared : that is, the 
compyling Eglogues, as much to say as Goteheardes tales, because Uiey 
bee commonly Dialogues or speeches framed or supposed betweene 
Sheepeheardes, Neteheardes, Goteheardes, of such like simple men, i 

Baptista Mantuan: In the Schoolrown. 341 

them aforesaid Pallingenius and Bap. Mantuanus ; and, for a singular 
gift in a sweet heroical verse, match with them Chr. Odand, the audior 
of our • Anglorum Praelia.' " 

The following two passages from Francis Meres's ^ Palladis Tamia" 
bring Mantuan into interesting collocations. 

(i) As these Neoterickes, lovianus Pontanus, Politianus, Marcellus 
Tarchaniota, the two Strozza*, the &ther and the son, Palingenius, 
Mantuanus, Philelphus, Quintianus Stoa, and Germanus Brixius have 
obtained renown and good place among the ancient Latine poets : so 
also these Englishmen, being Latine poets, Gualter Haddon, Nicholas 
Car, Gabriel Harvey, Christopher Odand, Thomas Newton with his 
'' Leyland," Thomas Watson, Thomas Campion, Brunswerd and Willey 
have obtained good report and honourable advancement in the Latine 

(2) As Theocritus in Greek, Virgil and Mantuan in Latine, Sanazar 
in Italian, and the authour of ''Amintae Gaudia" and Walsingham's 
*< Melibaeus "^ are the best for Pastorall. So amongst us the best in this 
kind are Sir Philip Sidney, Master Challener, Spencer, Stephen Gosson, 
Abraham Fraunce, and Bamefield. 

[These passages from Webbe and Meres are taken from Mr. Gregory 
Smith's << Elizabethan Critical Essays '' (Clarendon Press). The passages 
from Webbe, voL L p. 262 and p. 239 ; the passages from Meres from 
voL ii. pp. 315 and 321 respectively.] 


343 Th* GetUkman's Magamu. 



THE recent expitation of the Eunoua Bridgewater Trust recilb 
foicibly to mind the romance of that strangely ptcturesque 
figure, Francis, Duke of Bridgewattr, who has been well described 
as "the first great Manchester man." The Duke's boyhood vaa 
precarious and unhappy. His was the thankless lot of a weakly, 
unattractJTe, and rejected younger son j and when, after the deadi 
of his brother, he became the heir to the &mily title and estatesi his 
parents, so we are told, seriously contemplated the otreme step of 
cutting off the entail. In early manhood the Duke was affianced to 
the widowed Duchess of Hamilton, one of "the beautiful Miss 
Gunnings." An unfortunate quarrel put an end to the enpigemeo^ 
and the Duke thereupon buried himself, in his twenty-third year, in 
his remote manor-house at Worsley, in Lancashire. Here he lived 
as a recluse, his only companions for many years being Brindley, 
the engineer — that rough, untutored genius — and his agent Gilbert. 
This famous trio devoted themselves to the development of the 

The Duke of Bri^evDater and his Canal 343 

pool at less than half the cost of previous carriage and with greater 
speed; who thus — giving an impulse to old industry and birth to 
new, to the unspeakable advantage of his country — realised a fortune 
for himself and his heirs such as had never been acquired by doing 
good to manlrind before," 

When the Duke, after his unhappy disagreement with the Duchess 
of Hamilton, settled down in his Lancashire home, he soon came to 
realise the absolute importance of some cheap method of conveying 
the coal from his Worsley mines to the rising towns of Manchester 
and Liverpool. He turned his attention, therefore, to the construction 
in the first place of a waterway between Worsley and Manchester, 
and in 1759 applied to Parliament for the necessary powers. In 
order to secure the passing of his Bill, the Duke introduced into it 
several concessions to the inhabitants of Manchester. He bound 
himself not to exceed the freight of -zs. dd. per ton on all coal brought 
from Worsley, and not to sell the coal so carried into the town at 
more than nd. per hundredweight, which was then less than half the 
average price. The inhabitants of Manchester, of course, were most 
anxious to welcome such a Bill, and it passed through Parliament 
without opposition. With the aid of his agent, John Gilbert, and 
his engineer Brindley, the Duke immediately proceeded to construct 
bis canal. It became necessar>' to carry the waterway across the 
valley of the Irwell, and Brindley determined to achieve what was 
then r^arded as an extraordinary feat of engineering, the building of 
an aqueduct over the river itself. A special Act of Parliament was 
necessary in order to enable this to be done. But eventually the 
canal was completed, and an admirir^g world was pleased to regard 
the work as a wonderful achievement. People flocked to Worsley to 
see the novel waterway, and the Barton aqueduct was described by a 
contemporary historian as " perhaps the greatest artificial curiosity in 
the world." Ebenezer Elliott has written some fine lines of the 
engineer of the Bridgewater Canal r 

And !o t he wived a prophet's hind and gave, 

Where the winds soar, > palhwiy to the wave ! 

From hill lo hill bade aii.hung rivets stride. 

And flow through mountuas with a conqueroi's pride ; 

O'er graiing herds, lo ! ships suspended soil. 

And Brindlcy's pisise hath vriugi in every gate. 

Having united Worsley and Manchester by one canal, the Duke 
straightway embarked upon an even more difficult task — the exten- 
sion of the canal to the river Mersey, and the consequent linking 
together of Manchester and Liverpool, For the next five years this 

344 ^'^ Geniiemaiis AfagiuiMt. 

undertaking completely absorbed the energies of die Duke and liu 
engineer. Smiles, in his " lives of the EngiDeei%" telb us tbat long 
before the works were finished the Duke foond his reaouicei serioudj 
oippled. He was compelled to ex er ciae the strictest ecoaom^ ; he 
paid off his retinue of servants, put down his carriages and town 
house, and reduced his expenditure to 400^ a year. He was often 
unable to find sufficient money to fiimish the weekly wages of hii 
great band of labourers, and the tenantry were frequently called upon 
to furnish advances to their landlord. Nevertheless die canal was 
completed without a recourse to the extreme step of mor^i^ng die 
estates, and the Duke soon reaped his reward in the largely augmented 
income which resulted from his enterprise. The trade of Lancashire 
gained enormously from the throwing open of the new waterw^»- 
Within a short period the price of coal in Manchester was reduced 
by fifty per cent, and this cheapening of fuel was fcJlowed hfn mpA 
extension of the cotton industry, which, long befisre the Duke's 
death, had reached a point of unexampled and unexpected pro^terity. 
The effect of the impulse given to trade by reason of die Dnke^ 
energy and forethought was not, however, confined to the Nordi, 
"A new era began," says Green, "when the engineering genius of 
Brindley joined Manchester with its port of Liverpool in 1767, bf a 
canal which crossed the Irwell on a lofty aqueduct ; the success tit 
the experiment soon led to the universal introducdon of water-^attiagc^ 
and Great Britain was traversed in every direction by three thousand 
miles of navigable camils. At the same dme a new importance wis 
given to the coal which lay beneath the soQ of England." 

Exactly a hundred years after the death of the Duke of Bridge- 
water, the Trust which he created by his will ceased to exist Ilia 
Duke was most anxious that the great trading concern which he had 

The Duke of Bridgewater and his Canal. 345 

so far as the Trust properties were concerned, the second son of his 
nephew Earl Gower, afterwards Duke of Sutherland. This second 
son, Lord Francis Gower, or Lord Francis Egerton (for he assumed 
the £eunily sumameX became in due course the first Earl of Ellesmere. 
The third Earl, to whom the Trust properties have now passed 
absolutely, is his grandson. Although Lord Francis Egerton and his 
successors have enjoyed during all these years the income from the 
estates, they have had no voice or share — nominaUy at all events — 
in their management and development Under the Duke's will full 
power and control were vested in three trustees, one of whom was to 
act as a ** superintendent trustee " and to have the active oversight 
of the canal and collieries and the general conduct of the business. 
The first trustees were Sir Archibald Macdonald, Kt (Chief Baron 
of His Majesty's Court of Exchequer), the Bishop of Carlisle, and Mr. 
Robert Haldane Bradshaw, the last named being " the superintendent 
trustee.'' The period for which the Trust was to continue was defined 
in the following ingenious manner : 

•* During the term of one hundred and twenty years to commence 
and be computed from my death, and fully to be complete and ended 
if the said George Granville Leveson-Gower Sutherland, Earl Cower ; 
the Honourable Francis Gower, his second son ; the said Sir Archibald 
Macdonald, Edward Venables Lord Bishop of Carlisle, and the 
several children of the respective marriages of the said Sir Archibald 
Macdonald and his present wife and Edward Venables Lord Bishop 
of Carlisle and his present wife, who shall be living at my death ; 
and also the persons who at my death shall be lords spiritual and 
temporal of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and 
have taken their seats in the House of Lords of the said United 
Kingdom, or any or either of them, the said Earl Gower, Francis 
Gower, Sir Archibald Macdonald, Edward Venables Lord Bishop of 
Carlisle and children of the respective marriages of the said Sir 
Archibald Macdonald and Edward Venables Lord Bishop of Carlisle 
and their present wives, and lords spiritual and temporal shall so 
long live, and also during the further term of twenty years." 

In this way the Duke of Bridgewater ensured that his valuable 
Lancashire estates should be preserved, " as a going concern," so to 
speak, for some generations after his death. The law provided that 
property might be settled for the duration of lives in being and for 
a further period not exceeding twenty-one years. So the net was 
cast sufficiently wide, and besides a number of the Duke's friends 
and relatives the entire House of Lords was pressed into the service 
of the Bridgewater Trust. The last of these *' lives in being " ended 

VOL. CCXCVII. NO. 2086, B B 

346 The Gentlematis Ma^astru. 

on October 3, 1883, and thus, accotcUog to the provisiom of the 
Duke's will, the Trust died a natural death twenty yean later, 00 
October 3, 1903. It is almost unnecessaiy to say that during the 
past century the Trust property — thanks in a U^ d^ree to the 
skill and wisdom with which it has been administered — has enor- 
mously increased in value. From a sentimental point d view one 
may regret, perhaps, that the canal which rendered the name (tf 
Bridgewater famous no longer forms part of the IVusL The trustees 
disposed of the waterways in 187a to the Bridgewater Navigadoa 
Company, of which Sir Edward Watkin, M.P., was the chainnan. 
The purchase pnce paid by the company was i,iao,ooo£ Fifteen 
years later the canal ^!un changed hands, bdng acquired, for a som 
of i,7io,ooo<. by the Manchester Ship Canal Company. It now 
forms an important part of that great industrial undertaking, the Ship 
Canal, and so may be said, in a way, to be fulfilling still the public 
service for which the Uuke designed it. 

The Duke of Bridgewater, as has been remarked above, Uved at 
Worsley the life of a recluse. In his old age he developed many 
eccentricities. Smiles says that the seclusion to which his early dis- 
appointment in love had first driven him grew at length into a habiL 
He hated and despised all womankind ; he would not even allow a 
female servant to wait upon him. Careless in dress, penurious in his 
ways, rough and outspoken in manner, his only weakness was his 
love of the weed. " He smoked much more than he talked." It is 
said that he would have neither conservatory, pinery, flower grdw, 
nor shrubbery at Worsley, and once, on t^ return from London, 
finding some flowers which had been planted in his absence, he 
whipped their heads off with his cane and ordered their remomL 
"The only new things introduced about the place," says Smilei, 

The Duke of Bridgeuoaier and his Canal. 347 

Duke ''—as he is still fieuniliarly designated — have been handed down 
fiuthftdly from &ther to son in many a Lancashire village. Men still 
chuckle over the Duke's strongly expressed detestation of the railway 
system, then in its infuicy. *' We shall do well enough if we can 

keep dear of those d tramroads," he is reported to have said to 

Lord Kenyon. Yet this was the strange old man who towards the 
end of his life, suddenly manifesting an intelligent interest in matters 
artistic, formed the wonderful Bridgewater collection, which has given 
delight to so many thousands erf lovers of art in the intervening years. 
The Duke died at the age of sixty-seven, and was buried in the family 
vault at Little Gaddesden. The foUowmg document, relating to 
the arrangements for the funeral, is somewhat of a curiosity in its 


Ordbr op P&ocxssion. 

To be perfofined by Henry Flint, Greek Street, Soho, London. 

Two Conductors on Horseback. 
Pages. Cloakmen on Horseback. Pages. 

No. I The Plume of Feathers. No. 2 

A Puge. Man to carry do. A Page. 

Six Psges. THB HBARSB. Six Pages. 

With Six Horses with Black Feathers and 
Velvet Coverings, and the body in a crimson 
Velvet Coffin, silvered nails, handles, &c. 

A Page. A MOURNING coach. a Page. 

With Six Black Horses, with Black 

Feathers, and Velvet Coverings. 

John Woodman. — Barber. 


And Six Horses as before. 
Mr. Wellum. Mr. Liffen. Mr. Quinn. 


And Six Horses as before. 
Mr. Hemming (Foreman at Hempstead). Mr. Callum. 

And for three Footmen from London 
to Hempstead. 

The PRIVATE CARRIAGE with Six Horses. 


Silk Scar6, Hatbands, and Gloves for Mr. Woodman and the Six Pall-bearers. 
The same for the Gergymen at Gaddesden and at St James's Church. Silk Hat- 
bands and Gloves for Uie Two Clerks at the Church. The same for the Cloakmen 
and other attendants. Crape Hatbands and Gloves for the Coachmen, Postilion, 
and Footmen. 

The Pulpit and Communion at Gaddesden to be hung with superfine Black 
Goth. Anachievement for the House in Geveland Court. 


348 TJte GeiUlematis Me^azitu. 


The Hoct NoUe Fnuidi 


Bom 21M Hay, 1736. 

IMed 8tli Mud), 1803. 

Tbe Pnx:e*uim it intended to move fram Oevelwid Court by 

Six o'clock b the Morning. 

To arrive at Edgeware Ro^ between Eig^ and Ifine o'clodi to 

Bieskbit and Water. 

To go in Procesdon tbiongh Watfoid and to be at Hempctead about 

One o'clock to bail the Hones and Dine. 

To proceed from thence as soon after Three o'clock at pocaUe 

in ilow Fioceidon to GaddeedcD. 

To retan to Hempstead the Mme Evening, aad go to Town 

the next day. 

The Duke's own Coach and Hones togo to Aihii^oa theEreningaflerf 

Funeral and return to Town the next day. 



HYBRIDISATION, so closely allied with evolution, is a study 
much n^lected, and yet of the greatest importance. 
Zoologists realise this, and Professor Newton remarked to me in a 
letter, ''The subject of hybridism is a most attractive one;" and 
again, '' We, however, know very little about hybrids, and I wish more 
people would take up the subject." The tendency to distribute 
one's eneigies over too vast an area, and the want of definite con- 
centration, might account for many failures. 

My original ambition was to produce a new variety of pigeon 
that would prove a swift-flying bird and a useful addition to the table. 
To carry this out I ignored the existing varieties of C, domesticus^ 
and turned my attention to the British wild doves. During the past 
fifteen years I have reclaimed, and bred hybrids from, the wood-pigeon, 
stock-dove, turtle-dove, and rock-dove. These years of labour in 
this interesting subject have been marked by many failures and 
disappointments. In addition to the weariness of working alone 
and without recognition, I was confronted with the fact that no 
ornithologist whose writings I had consulted at the libraries of 
universities and learned societies made any mention of the prolific- 
ness of ring-dove hybrids. Many doubted even the possibility of 
domesticating and hybridising the birds, and all were agreed that 
such a bastard would prove barren. It appears to be impossible to 
hybridise the domestic pigeon with the cock ring-dove. I wasted 
several years in this vain attempt. The birds mated and produced 
eggs, but I never discovered the slightest sign of fertility among some 
fifty eggs examined from half-a-dozen different pairs. The cock 
hybrid will, however, mate and produce young with the domestic 

The history of my successful hybridisation of the wood-pigeon is 
as follows : I procured young wood-pigeons from the nest before they 

350 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

were fledged. I found that a bird reared from the nest at dgfat oi 
nine days old invariably remained tame for life if proper care and 
kindness were used. Birds reared by pladng wood-pigeons' eggs 
under domestic birds proved useless, because they beaune wild and 
unmanageable as soon as they could fly. The same result occurred 
when the birds were taken with partly deTel(q>ed plumage. These, 
indeed, became fairly tame during the process of daily feeding and 
handling, but as soon as they could shift for themselves the? reverted 
to their wild nature. 

To rear young wood-pigeons for domestication a thorough know- 
ledge of pigeon ailments is necessary. The gloss of the plumage^ 
the clearness of the eye, and the general activity of the wings 
and legs are good guides. The birds require their seed freshly 
soaked every day, and sparsely sprinkled with Hyde's pigeon grit 
J^h chopped lettuce, a little finely grated meat, and occasicmally a 
sulphur or castor-oil bread pilL Linseed and chalk are sometimes 
necessary. When the young can fly, they should be summoned by 
a particular sound. This can be done by whistlii^ or making use 
of the same words during feeding time. Soon the birds become 
fomiliar, and learn to alight on the arm and shoulder, and to take 
their food from the hand. The hen is ready for mating when so. 
months old. 

The wood-pigeon readily mingles with the domestic pigeon, though 
it is advisable to breed male birds carefully for experiments. I 
commenced with a pure-bred white Dragon hen mated to a black 
Dragon cock that had a few white feathers at the side of the neck. 
After twelve months, one bird was reared with a decided ring like a 
dove. This proved to be a cock. I now bred with « laq^ bltK 
Carrier whose plumt^e contained ihe greyish-blue feathers, and from 

The Successful Hybridisatum of the Wood-pigeon. 351 

composed of materials that give with the weight and movements of 
the young. I have found nearly all the young birds that have died 
suffered from internal complaints brought about by the heavy 
pressure of their bodies upon the hard, unresisting surface of the 
nest-box. I think, however, the wisest course would be to remove 
the young from the parents after the eighth day, and bring them up 
by hand. 

During the year 1899 I became decidedly disheartened, having 
lost, from different pairs, no fewer than forty young birds, from 
causes that appeared to me at that time unaccountable. On August 2 
I wrote to the press : *' Eleven days seem about the extent of life 
permitted to the young of this curious cross-breeding. The hen 
generally dies on the fifth day, and the cock on the eleventh." It 
happened that just at the time when I was about to give up my 
experiments success came. In September 1899 ^ reared a ring- 
dove hybrid that has proved one of the healthiest and hardiest of 
the pigeon tribe. He has twice crossed the Atlantic, and survived 
the extremes of heat and cold during exhibition. This bird is now 
on view at the London Zoological Gardens (Western Aviary). 

This ring-dove hybrid mated to a blue Dragon when six months 
old, but it was not until 1902 that any eggs were fertile. During the 
present year I have bred and reared three handsome birds. The 
note of the ring-dove hybrid's young is unlike that of any known 
species. The attitude and gestures of the bird when paying court 
to its mate resemble rather the British wild dove. 

Professor Poulton, F.R.S., has been good enough to refer to my 
work as " a most interesting and difficult experiment." ^ Writing to 
me recently, he asks : " Does C livia produce hybrids easily with 
the various races of C damesticus^ as we should expect under 
Darwin's views that the latter is descended from the former, and 
from this alone ; and if such hybrids are formed, are they fertile 
liff /(fr j^ as well as with the parent race? I have just been looking 
at Darwin on the point, but can find nothing definite." 

I must doubt whether C. livia is the origin of the pigeon family, 
or whether if the different varieties were released upon a desolate 
island, they would all revert to this type. The Crowned pigeon, 
Gaura caronata, from New Guinea, measures from twenty-seven to 
twenty-eight inches in extreme length, while the small Ground-dove, 
C.passerina^ Linn., is often barely six inches. My experiments prefer 
C pcUumbus to C livia. Every young bird appears to exceed the 
size and weight of its predecessor. 

> WhaiisaSpemsf 1904. 


The GmttUmatCs Magaxme, 

In the Western Aviaries of the ZoologictI Sodety^ Gudott will 
be found two pairs of wood-pigeon hybrids. Two birds are the yoong 
of the domestic pigeon and the hybrid crass. The present object it 
to experiment inier st to the foiittb geoetatioo. One bird has fbr- 
tunately proved to be a hen, and has alieady laid faer second clatch 
of eggs. 




AMONG the fascinating volumes which have been issued by the 
Government Press in India are .those which relate to the last 
census. The general reader will perhaps be most interested in that 
which treats of the ethnographic features of the country. 

Full of marvellous facts about the character, habits, dress, and 
probable origin of hundreds of races and tribes, the book would 
furnish matter for a thousand romances, and the greater part of the 
details are so attractive, and so ably presented, that a temptation is 
felt to reproduce them all, but space forbids. As illustrating, 
however, the extent and interest of the field traversed by the 
officials who have been charged with this wonderful compilation 
and review, a few extracts may be given from the sociological 

Referring to the Jats of the Punjab, Sir Denzil Ibbetson, who 
writes the monograph on this people, states that they are generally 
ascribed to Indo-Scythian stock, and almost one century before the 
Christian Era are noticed as the Zanthei by Strabo, and are 
mentioned by Pliny and Ptolemy. Probably the Jats and the 
Rajputs are of one ethnic origin, whose ancestors reigned at 
Hastinapura, not far from modern Delhi, and were of the Solar 
or Lunar race. The reviewer considers the Jats to be the most 
important people of the Punjab, industrious and Independent It 
is possible that the migration which brought them to the plains of 
the Punjab took place over two thousand years ago. What wars, 
what changes of dynasty, has that long period seen 1 and yet the 
customs and occupations of the people remain the same, and their 
methods of agriculture are little changed. The irrigation schemes of 
the British Government in India have, however, brought water to 
many arid tracts in which the millet now luxuriates, and it cannot be 
but that life is thereby easier, and property, by the exercise of 
humane authority, more secure than of yore. 

Coming now to the Mahratta country, referred to as the Scytho- 
Dravidian tract in the Census Report, an exhaustive account by 

354 "^^ Geniiemaiis Magaxine. 

Sir James Campbell {bom the Bombay Gaxetteei) is given of 
die tebgions obsarances of the Desbnstfa Brahnuma, with much 
other matter of vivid interest The fragnnce of the jasmine and 
the Champa seems to lii^cr between the pages devoted to the 
descriptioD of the namerons cercnmiies connected with the betrothals 
of wee boys and girls, and the scent of sandalwood is conjnred up 
as we read <rf the florid festivals with which the consommatiMi of tlK 
marriage is celebrated. Boys are married between the ages of eigbt 
and twenty-fiii-e, and giils generally before twelve yeais, and oftm 
much earlier, but of coarse tibe marriage is not completed until 
later. For the girl a saoament is then perfomted, her maturity is 
announced by a messenger to her friends and relatives, and be dis- 
tributes packets of sugar to them. At the husband's house the 
messenger himself receives a present But before the choice aS a 
wife is made for a son, the family of the latter have to decide by a 
personal visit to the girl's relatives whether a marriage can be suitably 
arranged. The girl is brought in and questioned, and if sufficiently 
promtung, mentally, a kinswoman strips her if she is under ei^ 
years of age, or takes her bodice off if she is older, and examines her 
closely to see if she is healthy, and has no bodily defect Beauty is 
specially attended to, as it is difficult at so early an age to conjectuie 
what the mental attainments of the girl will be. Should all this be 
satisfactory, the girl's dowry from her parents and the prospective 
bridegroom's presents are then arranged for. 

Subsequently to the ceremony for conceptirai when at maturity, 
is one for " son-gi%-ing," at the seventh month of pregnancy one for 
" Kinging satisfjing." when the juice of a grass is dropped down the 
fill's Icfl i>ostril in oider that the unborn child may grow ; in die 

The Census of India. 355 

throw some doubt upon this policy. But the Murris carry the idea 
so fiur that a woman, on the death of her husband, reverts to her 
father or his heirs, and can, we presume, be again married. The 
husband therefore has the temporary use of her. The Brahuis of 
Kalat may be of Scythian origin. The head of the confederacy 
is a Mohammedan khan. Here again the smaller groups are 
anxious to grow numerically larger. They think that heredity also 
follows the mother in human beings and the father in animals. 
Consequently to maintain a pure stock a first cousin is preferred in 
marriage. The effect of such alliances is not touched upon. There 
is a prejudice against marriages with blacksmiths, musicians, and 
slaves, whether bond or free. Among the Brahuis blood-feuds are 
savagely pursued. 

And now let us take a bird's eye view of the extreme north-east 
of the Indian Empire, where, among the Indo-Chinese borderers, the 
Wa remain one of the most primitive in their habits. They count 
themselves to have originated as tadpoles, at the beginning of time, 
in a lake on the top of a mountain range seven thousand feet above 
the sea, an idea not wholly inconsistent with the results of modem 
biological research. In their next stage as frogs they lived on Nau 
Tao, and developed later into ogres, dwelling in caves. Their food 
at this time consisted of wild pigs, deer, goats, and cattle, but from 
this diet no young ones accrued to them. Upon the adoption of 
cannibalism the sterility disappeared, and babies in human form ap- 
peared. To-day the cannibalistic habit is not observed, but the people 
are head hunters like the Lushais. They are of athletic build, and the 
women are possessed of very substantial charms and marvellously 
developed l^;s, their massive physique not being impaired by the 
excessive use of rice spirit They never wash, and according to Sir 
J. G. Scott, their incrusted dirt is only got rid of by being shed naturally. 
In hot weather the men wear no clothes, and at other times only a rag 
or strip over the loins, with a blanket over the shoulders occasionally. 
Women wear a few bead necklaces, and a short petticoat only part 
way to the knees. Inside their villages, in the warm season, this latter 
garment is discarded, but their then nude condition is not felt to be 
an offence against modesty. Among the Wa polyandry is not known ; 
polygamy is permitted but not much practised. Wives are purchased, 
if good-looking, with a few buffaloes ; but if not possessed of charm 
the sale is effected for a dog or a fowl or two. 

In the Dravidian tract of country there is one tribe of people 
which is devoted wholly to toddy-drawing from the palm tree. The 
extensive plains of Ramnad are covered with the sago palm, which 

356 The GetUUman's Magattne. 

fiitnuhes much of the food of the peoplt in tbia part of the eoontijr. 
The soil is sandy, and the sea breeze whitpen through the tfokj 
fronds of the palm, both affording the conditions uades vhidi it 
flourishes. Accoiding to I^end, Rama came this way in pursuit of 
Ravenna, who had carried off his wife Situ. So that, no doubt, 
the district has acquired its name from the Hindu hera The road 
from Madura to Ramnad, the capital, and the sandy tiad to 
Paumben, beyond, are frequented at times by numerous pilgrims cm 
tbeii way to the shrine of Rameswaram, which overiooks the 
waters of the Straits. This is sacred to itie memory of Rama, and 
vies with Benares in its benefits to believers. From the temple can 
be seen the remains of the ridge of rocks constructed by Hanunuun, 
the king of the monkeys, with the aid of his army, to enable Rama 
to cross to Ceylon. A spring of fresh water which rises out of the 
salt soil marks the spot where Rama rested on his bow, and a 
draught of that water is salvation to a pilgrim. 

Along the roads that lead to this sacred spot are dotted the mini 
of many a shrine and rest-house, now the shelter of the goats from 
the noonday sun. The Shinins, oi toddy-dnwers, arc the inhabitants 
of these parts, although not in the village of the principal temple, 
which is Brahman. The men are skilled climbers, which is very 
necessaiy, as they have to he up and down the trees twice a day to 
put in place and to empty the earthen pots which serve to collect the 
palm juice. The Shdnins, says Mr. W. Francis, claim to be of 
Kshatriya caste, and are therefore eligible to enter Hindu temples ; 
they trace their descent from the Chera, Chola, and Pandya kings of 
the south, and their pretensions led to the Tinnevelly riots in 1899, 
the Hindus maintaining that the Shastras are against toddy-dnwen 
entering their t( 

The Census of India. 357 

mencement of the sixteenth century, and indeed pahn brandy was 
formally prohibited in the year 1787 by the then Maharaja. Akin to 
the seasonal observances in other parts of India, a great festival is 
held at the end of the rainy season in honour of Mahavishnu, when 
the poorest put on gala attire, and field sports are held. Formerly on 
these occasions there would be fights with bows and blunted arrows. 
Marriage is considered here, as elsewhere in India, as of so much 
importance, that the practice seems to be current of a preliminary 
ceremonial among girb of tender age. A number of them may 
symbolically be married at one and the same time to a relative who 
acts the part of a bridegroom. But the serious afifair, when the girl 
is older, that is at maturity, is signified by the tying of the tali round 
the neck and a festival lasting for four days. The wife mostly resides 
in the house of her birth. Fraternal polyandry once prevailed in 
Malabar. The reviewer considers that it was a civilised practice, an 
act on the part of the eldest brother significant of benevolence. It 
is not heard of to-day, except perhaps in remote parts of the country. 
At the present time, when the wife shows signs of pregnancy, her 
brother drops tamarind juice into her mouth while her face is turned 
to the sun. 

The Nayars have a great regard for education, and their boys and 
girls are both sent to the village school for elementary tuition. Their 
early training and hereditary instincts are productive of a character 
of sweet frankness, patient industry, reverence for authority, and un- 
calculating hospitality. 

So much for the extreme south of the peninsula. In one of the 
dividing ranges of mountains which separate north from south, 
namely the Sutpuras, dwells one of the still primitive and wild races 
of India — the Bhils. They still have no fixed villages, and abandoned 
huts mark the spots where they have for a time rested. The worship 
of trees, for the spirits who live within them, yet prevails : the bamboo 
and the pipul tree have their particulars, and women desirous of off- 
spring present gifts to the bor tree. Some perform obeisance to tigers, 
some to snakes, and some to peacocks, and even to the tracks of the 
birds, and describe the world-wide symbol, the Swastika, beside their 
offerings. However, there is a modern tendency on the part of the 
animistic tribes, the Bhils, the Khols, the Santals, and others, to 
adopt Hindu customs and beliefs as the respectable thing to do. 

Regarding the practice of infanticide in India the Census Report 
presents some valuable conclusions. It is said to be rare, generally 
speaking, and only occurs when the prospective difficulty of finding 
a husband is combined with a superstitious belief that the child is 

358 Ths Gmikm&fCs Magasitu, 

likel]r to cause misfoitune, but ignorance and an uncoosckm ill- 
treatment of females result in a reJativety hi^ rate of mortal!^ at ill 
ages. The evil eSects of early marriage on female lif^ in Ben^ 
particularly, are exhibited in a remarkable d^dency io nambeti 
about the time of puberty, between ten and fifteen years of age. 

Pages in the ethnographic review are full of mch ctiriositiea and 
extraordinary features as those above described, but it is neoeanty to 
pass to the statistical information which the Census Report so anp^ 

The population of India has reached the wonderAil total of nearly 
three hundred million souls. Would it could be said that they are 
all prosperous ! Unfortunately, poverty, ignorance, and disease are 
still immensely prevalent. Mr. J. K O'Conor, in a recent pi^ter read 
St the Society of Arts, says : * There are many millions of agricultural 
labourers in India whose wage is two annas a day, men -wtioaa 
garments are limited to one unclean rag round their Inns and another 
round their heads, whose miserable huts possess not even the roagfa 
rope-strung frame which in India does duty for a bedstead, irtio eat 
an insufficient meal from an earthenware platter or a large dry le«( 
who are unconscious of luxuries, and happy if they can get a full meal 
of the coarse, inferior grains which are theii staple food. These 
unfortunate wretches, some thirty odd million of them, male and 
female, are the people who first feel the pinch of hunger in an adverse 
season." Professor W. J. Simpson remarks in connection with this 
paper that the mortality among the natives from plague amounted to 
800,000 deaths among people of the labouring classes in 1903, and 
lately the same disease was canying off 40,000 per week, llieae are 
truly awful figures, and the best measares which the Govenunent of 
India have been able to devise have been ineffectual to din 

The Census of India. 359 

that they have both brought much capital into the country and have 
been the means of adding to the profits of the labouring class. The 
weaving of cotton yam and cloth by machinery may be said to have 
grown up in the last forty years, and, as illustrating the conservative 
habits of the Indians, it may be mentioned that there are still five 
and a half millions of hand weavers scattered throughout the 

While there is much poverty in India there are no poor-houses 
as a rule such as we have in England. The old and infirm are cared 
for by their relatives, so that upon reading in the Census Report 
that over four million mendicants wander about the country it must 
not be concluded that they are forced by poverty or infirmity to 
adopt such a life, but rather that it is a phase of religious principle. 
There must be an immense amount of wealth stored in money and 
in jewels, for five million people are of independent means, some 
possessed of thousands of pounds worth of diamonds and pearls, 
and further, a quarter of a million persons are living on pensions 
provided by the State. 

On the whole the census reveals much progress, but leaves the 
impression that in the condition of large masses of the people there 
is still a good deal to be desired. 


360 The GenHemanis MagasUu. 


IN the year 1606 a young Scotsman set out from home to study 
law in France. The English and Scottish crowns had been 
newly united on the head of James I., and Scotsmen were in favour 
at Whitehall. Consequently William Drummond took London on 
his way. Although still a few months under age, he was already 
Master of Acts of Edinbu^h, with a pronounced taste for pbilo- 
sophy and poetry. His father, Sir John Drummond, if not then 
actually in attendance on His Majesty in his capacity of Gentleman 
Usher, was in a position to give his son plenty of English in. 
troductions, and the young student spent the summer of 1606 very 
pleasantly in London, seeing all there was to be seen, meeting 
well-known people, and occasionally writing rather affected letters 
to his friends in Scotland. Then he went on to Bourges and civil 

Like many a law student since Ovid's time, young Drummond 
did not hnd his legal reading very engrossing. He was of s some- 
what methodical turn of mind, and among his papers are preserved 
lists of the books he read in these early years, books whidi be ap- 
parently considered a necessary part of a lawyer's reading. It it 
possible that when writing home for supplies he did not < 

Drummand of Hawthomden, 361 

died As William was the eldest son, he entered into possession of 
his father's estate and gave up the legal fiction. 

Hence Law, and welcome Muses ; though not rich 
Yet are you pleasing : let's be reconciled 
And new made one. Henceforth I promise fidthi 
And all my serious hours to spend with jovl : 
With you whose music strikeUi on my heart 
And with bewitching tones steals forth my spirit. 

So Jonson made Ovid say in " The Poetaster," and it does not need 
much imagination to fimcy Drummond uttering the same sentiment 
In the leisure and seclusion of his beautiful seat at Hawthomden, near 
E^burgh, he continued his miscellaneous studies — the poets still 
predominating, with a rather larger proportion of Italian than before. 
Between 1610 and 1612 Petrarch, Guarini, Sannazzaro, Tasso, 
Bembo, Kinaldi, Contarini, and Coquinati appear in his lists — a con- 
siderable array; but the English poets were not forgotten — Drayton 
and Alexander, Jonson's "Epigrams," Spenser's "Faery Queene," 
" Epithalamion " and " Amoretti " were all read ; and, as befitted one 
who had already begun to emulate his masters, we find duly entered 
Puttenham's " Art of English Poesy." 

With his books, his lute, and his friends, and with occasional 
tentative excursions into composition, prose and verse, Drummond 
passed his life at this time very equably, very quietly, very 
thoughtfully, very profitably. Amid his accumulating books he 
read assiduously; saturated his mind with Plato and Plotinus 
and with the sentiments and imagery of the modem Italians; 
copied, translated, imitated, and prepared himself that he might 
be ready to celebrate his subject when it came. The death of the 
much lamented Prince Henry gave him his first opportunity of 
publication ; but a more universal topic was at hand. It is impossible 
to improve on the words of his first biographer in this connection : 
*' Notwithstanding his close retirement and serious application to his 
studies, love stole in upon him, and did entirely captivate his heart, 
for he was of a sudden highly enamoured of a fine beautiful young 
lady, daughter of Cunningham of Bams." 

In his early days, before Love had thought him worth a shaft, 
Drummond had written from Paris a description of a picture of 
Venus he had seen there, in which the back of the goddess's head 
was painted like a skull; to which description the heart-whole 
youngster added for his correspondent's benefit : " It were to be 
wished this picture were still before the eyes of doting lovers." But 
his juvenile philosophy was all overthrown by the sight of Miss 

VOL, ccxcvii, NO, ao96, C q 

362 The Gentieman's Ma^dne. 

Cunningham reading Alexander's "Aurora" among the trees of 
Hawtbomden. His studies were interrupted. His musings rendred 
on a new centre. Even his dearly ioved lute brought him do con- 
solation. In a word, he was very much in love, and, lover-like, be^n 
to pour out the fears and the perilous joys of his condition in sonnets 
to the author of all the mischief. Divine philosophy was summoned 
to bis aid, but he was past her help, and confesses as much in a 
beautiful sonnet : 

I know that all beneath the moon decays. 
And what by mortals id this world b wrought 
In Time's giot periods shsll retum to nought ; 
TbaC faiieiC states have bUol nights and days ; 
I know how all the Muse's heavenly lays. 
With toil of Speight which are so deuly bought, 
As idle sounds of few or none ue sought. 
And that noi^ht lighter is than aiiy praise ; 
I know fiail beauty's like the purple flower, 
To which one mom oft bicth and death affords ; 
That love a jarring is of minds' accords 
Where sense and will invassat reason's power : 
Know what I list, this all can not me move. 
But that, O me 1 I must both write and love. 

Presently, as the sotmets began to accumulate, be took courage 
and sent them to his mistress with a letter that might have softened 
a harder heart than hers : " Here you have the poems, the first- 
fruits your beauty and many other good parts did bring forth 
in me. Though they be not much worth, yet I hope ye will, for 
your own dear self's sake, deign them some favour, for whom 
only were they done and whom only I wish should see them. 
Keep them, that hereafter, when time, that changeth everything, 

Drummond of Hawthomden. ^ 363 

The lovers were betrothed, the day fixed, and all preparations 
made, when everything was thrown into confusion and the whole 
current of Drummond's life thwarted and changed by the sudden 
death of the bride. 

The blow was a cruel one for Drummond. There is no doubt 
of the sincerity of his love, nor of the poignance of his grief. The 
sensitive soul of him, which had been drawn out by the warmth of 
a woman's love, now shrank back into itself, to brood, poet-like, on 
what he had lost, to live over again the hours of happiness he had 
spent in the presence of the dead girl, to dwell on her beauty and 
charm and on the uncompanioned misery that lay before him. His 
poems had now an additional value in his eyes. They were in a 
manner her poems, and might prove a lasting chronicle of his un- 
happy love. So he set himself to revise and arrange the verses, 
adding to their number sonnets that tell of his disconsolate sorrow 
for one who, as he said, had shone in his heart 

As in a dusky and tempestuous night 

A star is wont to spread her locks of gold. 

He hopes to immortalise his love and grief— the ambitious desire 
of so many lovers — and entreats her to look down with favour on 
his offering : 

Sweet soul which in the April of thy years 

So to enrich the heaven mad'st poor this round . • . • 

If ruth and pity there above be found, 

O deign to lend a look unto those tears. 

Do not disdain, dear ghost, this sacrifice, 

And though I raise not pillars to thy praise, 

Mine offering take ; let this for me suffice, 

My heart a living pyramid I raise. 

His labour of love was given to the world in 161 6, the year 
following his mistress's death. 

Scottish literature was at this time in a very depressed state. 
The early flush of vigour that had produced Lindsay and Gavin 
Douglas and Dunbar had died away. Scotland was too much taken 
up with wretched ecclesiastical bickerings to have time to spare for 
the arts. Literature in the old Scottish was practically dead, and 
those who still found taste and leisure for the practice of poetry 
wrote either in Latin or in the new literary English, the language 
that was being fixed and made universal throughout the island by 
the great Elizabethans, whose books and influence soon crossed the 

Tweed. Before Drummond began seriously to write, English had 



The Genileman's Magazine. 

already driven out Scottish as a literary vehicle. Drummond had 
spent some time in London and had read many English books ; 
consequently) when he wrote he used sound Elizabethan English, 
which is almost as good to-day as it was three hundred years ago. 

Drummond is known chiefly as a sonneteer, though he wrote a 
great deal that was not in sonnet form. His 1616 volume contained 
madrigals, epigrams, sextains, and longish couplet poems ; but the 
bulk of the little book is made up of sonnets. His reasons for 
adopdng the sonnet form so largely were, no doubt, many and inter- 
woven. In the first place, his genius did not run to epics ; he could 
not pour out a broad continuous stream of verse ; his imagination did 
not run fluently away with him, nor did he care to beat out his 
thoughts into a multitude of thin cantos. His habit was contaB< 
plative, meditative, retiring, pen»ve, studious, mild, and for the due 
expression of such a character there is no medium like the scauiet, 
let its detractors say what they wilL Then, too, there was alreadf a 
large sonnet literature in English, with which we know Drummond 
was familiar. Sidney and Drayton and Daniel and Spenser and 
Shakespeare — all these had written sonnet-sequences ; and in 1604 
Sir William Alexander, Drummond's bosom friend, had published a 
sonnet-cycle, also written, apparently, to a lost mistress, snatched 
away not by death, as was Drummond's, but by a more successfol if 
less poetical wooer. And besides these inducements, Drummond was 
deeply read in the Italian sonneteers, and many of his sonnets are 
imitations, some tittle less than translations, from the Italiaa 

The sonnet came to us from Italy, and enjoyed extreme popularity 
at the close of the sixteenth century. Thousands of English 
sonnets were written, and the French and Italian productions were 
very widely read. Drummond (we can tell by those tell-tale lists 

Drumnumd of Hawtkomden. 365 

her death, without making use of thoughts and phrases that have 
been used by centuries of lovers before his time — and since. 

Of English writers, Sir Philip Sidney is the one to whom 
Drummond owed most Both drew laigely from Italian sources 
of inspiration, both had similar themes to celebrate, both had the 
proverbial ill-luck of poets, both had a weakness for closing their 
sonnets with a couplet instead of following the orthodox Italian 
scheme. There is a distinct likeness between Drummond's sonnets 
and the *' Astrophel and Stella," a likeness of thought as well as of 
expression. Sidney's was the completer mind ; he lived in a larger 
world and dealt with laiger issues. His Muse 

Tempers her words to trampling horses' feet 
More oft than to a chamber melody, 

but he had a contemplative side to his character as well, and it is 
on that side that Drummond resembles him. His love for Sidney 
led him to borrow phrases from him as from his beloved Italians — 
a habit which, we may remind ourselves, Sidney himself confesses 

Oft turning others' leaves to see if thence would flow 
Some fresh and frtutftil shower upon my sunburnt brain. 

Now, does this inveterate habit of using borrowed or translated 
terms to express his own passion prove that Drummond was insincere? 
Could he have said, with Sidney, 

I in pure simplicity 
Breathe out the flames which bum within my heart ; 

and if he had said it, would it have been true ? Is it possible for a 
poet to dig for material among the works of bygone Italians and yet, 
in the sonnets so constructed, to express in his own person his own 
honest feelings towards a young Scottish lady who lived on the other 
side of the Firth ? Mr. Sidney Lee virtually says it is not possible. 
In his '* Life of Shakespeare" he endeavours to prove that Shakespeare's 
sonnets are fictitious exercises, written in order to show his dexterity 
in the use of a fashionable form of verse. In the pursuit of this 
aigument he gives a very interesting and exhaustive sketch of the 
rise of the sonnet in England, and shows clearly enough that a great 
many of its votaries spun their sonnets out of nothing in particular — 
that they addressed ideal mistresses and pretended to be burnt by 
painted flames. He also shows that many contemporary sonnets 
which were presumably addressed to an actual lady are in fact literal 
translations from the French or Italian. It is in this connection 

366 The Gentkmafis Magazine. 

that he menlions Dniinmond,^ declaring that nearly all of his 
sonnets are "translated or adapted from modem Italian sonDeteers," 
and assuming that therefore they were incapable of coQTeying a 
personal sentiment or emotion. Mr. Lee exaggerates Drumtnond's 
debt. Take, for instance, the ninth sonnet of the second part of the 
1616 volume. Mr. Lee summarily dismisses it as "a translation. " 
Drummond's later editor, Mr. W, C. Ward (who certainly is not 
disposed to attenuate his author's borrowings from Italy), remarks 
that Petrarch has a pretty sonnet on the same theme, and adds that 
Drummond's sonnet " may possibly have been suggested by this — 
but the resemblance is not very close." The theme in question is 
not an uncommon one. It is a complaint against Nature, who brings 
round the seasons in their everlasting circle but does not bring again 
the poet's lost love Gray makes a very similar lament in his sonnet 
on the death of West. The feeling is a very natural one. Drummond 
watches the approach of another springtide, and addresses the Spirit 
of Spring ; 

Thou tum'st, sweet youth, but, ah I my pleuant bouis 

And happy days with thee come not again ; 

The sad memorials only of my pain 

Do with thee turn, which turn my sweets in sours. 

Thou art the same which still thou wast before, 

Delicious, wanton, amiable, (air; 

But she whose breath embalmed thj wholesome air 

The fact that Petrarch had made a similar complaint before — 
which complaint Drummond had doubtless read, and which he 
perhaps remembered when he was writing his own sonnet — is not 
suflicient to prove that Drummond was making a purely imaginary 

Drummmd of Hawthomden. 367 

do not pretend that every one of Dnimmond's love-verses was 
actually inspired by a definite feeling towards a certain person. 
There are many things that go to the making of love-poetry, and it is 
not at all necessary that each verse should be in the nature of a 
complete personal confession. But what we do mean to assert is 
that it is possible for a sonnet to owe the major part of its conceits 
to a dead Italian (who may or may not have been in earnest when 
he wrote), and yet to be a personal utterance of a personal emotion. 
Drummond's mind and memory were so impregnated with Italian 
forms of thought and expression that it would have been extra- 
ordinary if his own poems had not shown signs of his reading ; but it 
is absurd, on that account merely, to regard his sonnets as a mere 
farrago of translations and adaptations of foreign poetry, purely con- 
ventional, hollow, insincere. When he began to collect his verses, 
no doubt he included some which had been written before Miss 
Cunningham appeared on the scene. He practically confesses so 
much in his first $onnet. They were abstract love-verses, rather 
semi-dramatic than personal ; but he was unwilling to suppress them, 
and found them a place among the more genuine products of his 
love, working all the poems together into a single entity. 

The 1616 volume duly published, Drummond settled down to 
quiet bachelorhood on his beautiful estate, turning his interrupted 
attentions once more to books and music and philosophy. By 
degrees he recovered from his bereavement and regained his lost 
spirits. He was greatly attached to Hawthomden, and found much 
comfort in its quiet beauty : 

Dear wood, and yon, sweet solitary place, 

Where from the vulgar I estrangM live . . . 

What sweet delight a quiet life affords, 

And what it is to be of bondage free, 

Far from the madding worldling's hoarse discords, 

Sweet flowery place ! I first did learn of thee. 

His retirement was enlivened by many friendships, both local and 
literary. Drummond was of that order of men who appear at 
their best in the small circle of their familiars. It is well attested 
that he possessed his share of wit and appreciation of fun. His first 
biographer says : " He never thought religion consisted in peevishness 
or sourness of mind ; on the contrary, his humour was very jovial and 
cheerful, especially among his fiiends and comrades, with whom he 
sometimes took a bottle only ad hiiariiaiemy Further, we are told 
that he was '* very smart and witty in his sayings and repartees, and 
had a most excellent turn in extemporary versifyings." Among 

Twitted him io 1618. J( 

EfabcT^ b« "^ nofalOHii and yKlLami Hiat kiKvli 

aoc T^uii OV3 p uumiLv Uc nccnco mc nccdtm 01 

pobaps pleased tite poet mare. It b pKttf nfe to aatom 
DnaisKad net JoasoD at some a( these KHiwlB iiyt^ fegti 
Tcoscc s to«r votild dm taic beta conpleie if he hid not ae 

ties: irri:§ Scjc:^ £•;«, md no Aoaix I'ne Edinlxirgo 


Drummand of Hawthamden. 369 

I was too good and simple, and that oft a man's modesty made a fool 
of his wit" Though Jonson was perhaps not quite so rugged as we 
are apt to think, he certainly was an almost complete contrast to his 
host Jonson was not a talkative man in general society, but give 
him a friend and a bottle (or several bottles) and there was no freer 
tongue in all King James's dominions. Wine had the same effect on 
him as it had later on Addison and on Lamb, sweeping away all 
constitutional obstacles to good-fellowship and freedom of utterance. 
And between Drummond's modest bottle a/ ^7anVa/f/» and Jonson's 
deep potations there was all the difference in the world. 

With Michael Drayton Drummond's temper and genius had 
much more in common. A friend of Drayton's visited Edinbuigh, 
called (at Drayton's request) at Hawthomden, and received some 
kindness from its owner. His return to London was the signal for 
the opening of a correspondence between the two poets, a corre- 
spondence marked by great admiration on the part of Drummond 
and by a very amiable and pleasing cordiality on the part of the 
veteran. Drayton and Alexander were friends in London, and 
Damon was naturally disposed to exchange confidences with any 
friend of Alexis ; while Drayton, who had fallen out with his 
publishers, poured his woes into the ears of the young friend who 
might perhaps induce an Edinburgh house to issue the next instal- 
ment of " Polyolbion." Drayton's opinion of the London book 
sellers must have surprised his correspondent — "They are a company 
of base knaves, whom I both scorn and kick at" 

With the exception of "Forth Feasting" (1617), Drummond did 
not publish again until 1623, when he sent out a little book of 
serious poems entitled " Flowers of Sion," the air of which breathes 
of contemplative seclusion. Drummond's first biographer laments 
his love of solitude. " He loved obscurity and retirement, for which 
he was mightily to blame : for it's a great Disparagement to Vertue 
and Learning when those Things which make Men useful to the World 
should incline them to go out of it." But Drummond, meis libris^ 
meis ocuiis contentuSy knew better than that : 

Thrice happy he who by some shady grove, 

Far from the clamourous world, doth live his own. 

He knew from his friend Alexander quite enough about court life 
to make him glad he was not there, to make him thank Heaven for 
liberty and Hawthornden and a quiet life— the image of his dead 
mistress not overrun by worldly press of work or ambition, nor yet 
effaced by idleness. Alexander at court had not even time to see 

370 Tks Gtntlematis Mdga*iM». 

his own poems thioogh the press. Dnunmond writes to console 
with him: 

" He who drew you there and fixed me here, cootnuy to ooi 
resolutions, be only from all dinger ma.y vindicate our fotnres and 
nuke us sure. He to this time bath brought me in the woild to be 
without riches, rich ; and then most happily did it bH oat w^ me 
when I had no hope in man left me ; and this came to me becuise 
on Him, and not on man, my hopes relied And therefore that now 
I live, that I enjoy a dear idleness, sweet soUtarinev, I have it of 
Him, and not man. TmstinHimj prefer not to cettaintieiunpeitain 
hc^cs. Cmspiravit in dolerts nostros hoe attai: tela dies pattrU 
toHtumhmrtdolonm', ibr we hare what to plain and legiettogeAer; 
and I ifSAt alone I must lament" 

The distinctly religious strain of this letter is diaiHCteristic of the 
whole of the " Flowers of Sion." The vague^ semi-pagan, philoso|ditc 
gmeialities of religion, which had been enough for him bafbr^ had 
assumed by this time a definitely Christian cast, and, if we may trust 
the testimony of a sonnet, it was his great sorrow that brougbt the 
change about, that first gave him a firm hold of the unseen realitiei 
of life, even as a similar sorrow impelled D'Arcy (in lifr. Watts- 
Dunton's " Aylwin " ) to mysticism. D'Arcy, who is really Dante 
Rosseiti, exclaims : " Ask any man who has passiooatdy loved a 
woman and lost her; ask him at what moment mysticism was forced 
upon him, at what moment be felt that he must either accqA a 
s[uritualistic theory of the universe or go mad ; ask him this, and be 
will tell you that it was at that moment when he first lodced tqioa 
her as she lay dead, with coimption'B foul fingers waiting to soil and 

After 1624 Drummond seems to have become restleaa. His 

Drummand of Hawthamden. 371 

by which single cavalry soldiers may do as much in battle as five or 
six can do with common arms, and which weapon will also suit 
excellently for foot service : the same from the dreadfulness no less 
than the suddenness of its effect being called Baktrobrontephon, or 
Thunder Rod ; but commonly, with reference to the variety of sizes 
it may assume without change of nature, known by such different 
names as the Box Pistol, Box Musket, Box Carbine, or Box 
Dragoon." Among the rest are "(5 and 6): Instruments of the 
mortar or siphon kind : whereof the one on account of its signal use 
in defending walls and ships and its truly wonderful speeds is called 
Platoskedastikon, vulgarly the Flat-Scourer \ the other, because of its 
special utility for shattering the masts, sails, rigging, and oars of ships, 
receives the name Euthutmetikon, vulgarly The Cutter. ... (9) A 
new kind of vessel which will be able without check from any 
strength of chains, bars, or batteries, to enter any harbours and 
either destroy all the shipping by fire or capture them by force ; 
which vessel firom its truly stupendous and terrible effect, and its 
dreadful destructiveness to ships and harbours, deserves to be called 
Limenolothreutes, vulgarly Leviathan." 

The letter goes on to say that '' inasmuch as the said Mr. William 
Drummond has with singular industry and no common ingenuity 
thought out these and not a few inventions besides^^ he is to have the 
sole patent rights for twenty-one years. It is a curious document, 
and one's first impression is that there must be some mistake — that it 
is some other William Drummond who has done, or rather who is 
going to do, all this ; but no, it is " our faithful subject, Mr. William 
Drummond of Hawthornden." Did he turn for relief from the 
rhymes of an obstinate octave to the fierce anticipation of the 
Limenolothreutes? Did the "Platoskedastikon, vulgarly the Flat- 
Scourer," usurp at times the allegiance he owed to his beloved 
madrigals ? Surely there was never such a contrast as this between 
the Scottish Petrarch and this would-be Scottish Archimedes. Only 
one thing was wanted to complete the wonder, namely, the practical 
carrying out of these designs — even of one of them ; but there is no 
indication except the patent to show that they ever had any but a 
theoretical existence. 

Drummond's next venture comes almost as strangely as his 
excursion into mechanics. But not even a bookish bachelor of 
forty-six, with a somewhat queer taste in the matter of inventions, is 
proof against the ordinary accidents of life. According to one 
account his marriage is said to have taken place " unexpectedly," 
which is a rather unexpected word in such a connection. The old 

372 The Geniientan*s Magaztiu. 

narrative tells that " by accident " he saw one Elizabeth Logan, wbo 
reminded him strongly of his dead love. For this resemblance be 
married her in 1632. 

After his maniage Drummond, as became his new condition, 
took an increasing interest in the affiiirs of his country, which was in 
a growingly disordered State. The tyranny of the King and his 
ministers, on one hand, strained even his loyalty and compelled bis 
protests ; while, on the other hand, the resdess intolerance of the 
Presbyterian clei^ provided him with another and a more congenial 
topic for satire. He was a fervent royalist, a supporter of the 
bishops, and a passive obedience man, but he was not afraid to 
remind the King of his duties, and very solemnly he warned him 
against attempting to subdue the Covenant by force of arms. As 
became a man of letters, Drummond was all for peace, and his chief 
prose work has that word for its title — " Irene : A Remonstrance for 
Concord, Amity, and Love." But neither side was in the mood for 
yielding. It was too late for compromise, too late for modeiate 
counsels, and very soon Scotland was in a state of war. The first 
Bishops' War was followed in 1640 by the second Bishops' War and 
by the troubles consequent upon and running parallel to the Civil 
War in England. 

Several times Drummond contributed to the literature of the 
controversy, always striving for settlement, for peace; but the 
Covenanters tried to make him play a more active part Once he 
was directed to proceed to the Border to resist the approach of 
Charles, but these and similar orders he contrived to disobey. 
Naturally he was reputed a malignant, and on more than one oc- 
casion he was summoned before one of those committees which gave 
a name and a subject to Sir Robert Howard's witty play. Drummond, 

Drummand of Hawthomden. 373 

shattered. He was getting old, and he despaired of better things. 
To his misgiving heart the execution of the King came as a great 
blow, and in December 1649, when the fortunes of his party were at 
their lowest ebb, he died. 

Dnmimond has been fortunate in his editors, though it was a 
long time before a complete edition appeared. Edward Phillips, 
Milton's nephew, edited the poems in 1656 ; but it was not until 
17 1 1 that all his works, prose and verse, appeared in a handsome 
folio, printed in Edinburgh by James Watson, and contaming a 
biographical memoir which was perhaps written by Bishop Sage. 
This edition may be recommended to the reader — if he can get it 
An even finer and equally rare edition in quarto of the poems only 
was printed for the Maitland Club in 1832 ; and since then Drum- 
mond has been included in the *' Library of Old Authors " and in the 
" Muses' Library." The poems themselves are not very bulky, but 
their quality is good. Much of his eulogistic and metaphysico- 
religious poetry has lost its savour, but that in which he treats of the 
eternal interests of men and women is not likely to fall altogether 
into oblivion. He has his faults, of course, especially those of 
affectation. There is too much inversion, too much periphrasis, too 
many classical allusions. '' Humid swimmers " is not an attractive 
equivalent of " fish," and one gets tired of Caspian tigers, Colchian 
mines, Pandionian birds, Danae's golden rain, Ixion's endless smart 
Then he was too fond of pedantic or technical words. His mistress's 
eyes become " sinople lamps " (sinople being heraldic for green !) ; 
he speaks of the " serpenting seasons," uses such words as sarcels, 
supercheries, fremdling, cynoper, vauntry, makes a new verb "to 
paragon," and so on. Sometimes he wrote when a walk down the 
glen would have done him more good, and at such times we get an 
artificial second-best Drummond. Sometimes his pen would not 
run, and he patches together lines of clotted monosyllables. But, 
allowing for inequalities, firom which no poet, from Homer to 
Kipling, is free, Drummond has left a quantity of very beautiful, 
delicate work, refined, reserved, sensitive, reflecting faithfully the 
character of the man. He had a strong sense of and admiration 
for beauty, which has led to comparisons with Browne and with 
Keats, though Drummond had none of the somewhat sleepy fluency 
of Browne, nor a tithe of the imaginative power of the later poet 
Then his work is almost always thoughtful; and, in addition, he 
had a fine sense of the value of good workmanship. He had no 
Donneish contempt for his art, and was not ashamed to bestow 
labour on his lines to make them as artistically perfect as he might 

374 "^^ GentUmaiis Mageaine. 

His sonnet to Sleep (a hackneyed theme among the old scxueteen) 
is not of the highest originality, but there ue many greater poets 
who would have no reason to be ashamed of it : 

Sleep, Silence' child, sweet blher of soft lest. 
Prince, whose approach peace to all nuntali brills, 
lodiffeient host to shepherds and to kings, 
Sole comTorter of minds with grief opprtat ; 
Lo, by thy channing rod all bieathir^ things 
Lie slumb'ring, with forgetfulneis poitest. 
And yet o'er me to spread thy drow^ wings 
Thou spares, alas ! who cannot be thy guest. 
Since I am Ihioe, O come, bat with that bee 
To inwaid light which Ihou ait wont to show. 
With reigned solace ease a tniefelt woe ; 
Or iT, deaf God, thou do deny that grace, 

Come as thou wilt, and what thou will bequeath, 

I long to kiss the image of my death. 

One other sonnet must be the limit of our quotations : 

If crost with all mishaps be my poor life. 

If one short day I nerer spent in miith. 

If my spright with itself holds lasting strife. 

If sorrow's death is but new sonow's tdif h ; 

If this vain world be but a sable stage 

Where slave-bom man plays to the scoEEng stars ; 

If youth be tossed with love, with weakness age. 

If knowledge serve to hold our thoughts in wan ; 

If time can close the hundred mouths of Fame, 

And make, what long since past, like that to be ; 

If virtue only be an idle name, 

If I, when I was born, was bom lo die ; 

^^'hy seek I lo prolong these loathsome days ? 

Drummond of Hawthomden. 375 

The poetical pilgrim may ** do " both Hawthomden and Lasswade 
in a single short excursion from Edinburgh, and if he is favoured 
by circumstances the little sentimental journey must be a very 
pleasant one. The present writer saw both places through a blinding 
mist ; he wishes his readers a better fortune. 


37$ The GeniUmtuis Magatttn. 


So ^ake th' enemy of mankiiid, c 

In Kipent, iiuuae bad, *Dd tomrdt Eve 

Addiessed \ai w>j, not with indented wktc. 

Prone to the groand, u ance, bat on hU lear, 

Ciicnlu boie of imng fotds, t)»t towered 

Fold above fold m mi^i^ quk, hi* head 

Crested aloft, and caibonde hii eyei ; 

With boTDished neck of verdant gold, erect 

Amid hit circling spires, that on the giua 

Floated redandant : pleaang wai hi* dnpe, 

And lovely ; never since of teipent-kind 

Lovelier. UiltoM. 

NO richer tieasure-trove of legendary lore ensta than that which 
concerns itself with dragons and serpents. From the TC17 
fiTst dawning of history and fable up to the twentieth century, 
when we pore over the exploits of Kaa, the great rock python, 
and Nag and his nicked wife Nagaina, as told us in the Saga of 
Kipling, they have had perennial interest. Tradition and fable 
have so mixed them together that it is impossible to treat theon 
separately ; but in the symbolism of Christian art they were very 
distinct. The serpent, an attribute of St. Cecilia, and various other 

Repliie Lore. 377 

Virgin's feet, with peculiar reference to the promise, "She shall 
bruise thy heel." It is sometimes represented twined round a globe, 
to show the power of sin over the entire world, or, in pictures of the 
Crucifixion, lying dead at the foot of the cross ; " or, if alive, look- 
ing impotently up at the second Adam upon the tree of our salvation 
as before, according to art, he looked triumphantly down upon out 
first parents from the tree of our fall." The dragon is the symbol 
of sin and paganism. When lying at the foot of a saint it denotes 
sin conquered ; but when chained to a rock, or led, the vanquishing 
of heresy. It was the special attribute of St. Michael, as those who 
have seen Guido's glorious painting in the Church of the Capuchins 
at Rome will not easily foi^et, SL Margaret, St. Sylvester, St. 
George, and St. Martha, who rendered powerless a terrible dragon 
called the Tarasque, who dwelt in the Rhone near the spot where 
Tarascon now stands, by sprinkling it with holy water and binding 
it with her girdle. Lord Lindsay, speaking of the creature in his 
"Sketches of Christian Art," says : "The dragons of early tradition, 
whether aquatic or terrestrial, are not perhaps wholly to be regarded 
as fabulous. In the case of the former, the race may be supposed 
to have been perpetuated until the marshes or inland seas left by 
the deluge were dried up. Hence, probably, the legends of the 
Lermea or hydra, etc. As respects their terrestrial brethren (among 
whom the serpent which checked the army of Regulus for three 
days near the river Bagradus in Numidia will be remembered), 
their existence, testified as it is by the universal credence of 
antiquity, is not absolutely incredible. Lines of descent are continually 
becoming extinct in animal genealogy." Serpent worship was not 
uncommon in old days, either, as Miss Yonge suggests, "from 
terror, or from a shadowy remembrance of the original temptation." 
" The North," continues the same authority, " believed in the 
Jonnungandr, or Midgardsorm— the serpent that encircled the 
world and was one of the monstrous progeny of Loki. It appeared 
as a cat to Thor in his visit to Utgard, when he was challenged to 
lift it off the ground, and only by the utmost exertion succeeded in 
raising a single paw, to the universal consternation of the Joten at 
the strength that could accomplish such a feat. Another time he 
fished for it, with a bull's head for a bait, and had a most tremen- 
dous struggle with it, only ended by the giant Hymer cutting his line 
in two ; and finally it is to die by Thor's hand, but will suffocate him 
by its venom. Also, the permanent abode of the perjured is lined 
' by the carcases of snakes ; meanwhile, a serpent hangs over Loki, 
I dropping venom upon him, as he lies bound like Prometheus on the 
I VOL. ccxcvij. NO. ao86. 


Reptile Lore. 379 

the country-folk if it were forgotten ! The heir of Lambton resolved 
to rid the land of such a pest, and took council of a notable white 
witch, who charged him to take a solemn vow before the combat 
that, if he were successful, he would kill the first living thing he met 
on his homeward way. If he broke this vow, she warned him, no lord 
of Lambton for nine generations would die in his bed The vow was 
taken, and a &vourite hound was ordered to be released to meet his 
master when the latter blew a blast on his bugle. The heir was 
successful, and the dragon was slain ; but, when he sounded the bugle, 
his father, overjoyed at his safety, forgot the vow, and rushed out to 
meet him. Of necessity, the vow was broken, and — so runs the 
local tradition — for the nine generations following no lord of 
Lambton did die in his bed. In Border minstrelsy, *' Kempion," 
and "The Laidly Worm of Spindleston Haugh," both turn on a 
lovely lady transformed into a loathsome serpent by wicked spells, 
and restored to human shape by " kisses three." 

He's looted him o'er the lofty crag, 

And he has gi'en her kisses three : 
In she swang, a loathly worm ; 

And oat she stepped a £ur ladye. 

The worm of Linton, in Roxburghshire, was killed by a valiant 
laird of Lanston, who, finding ordinary weapons of no avail, stuck a 
peat dipped in scalding pitch on his lance, and thrust it down the 
dragon's throat 

At Copenhagen a tall spire over the Exchange is formed of three 
dragons' tails curiously entwined, and who can forget the dragon^ 
ship of Rand the Strong — 

Carved and gilded, 

. . • 

With its crest and scales of green — 

or the Still more famous Long Serpent built by Thorberg Skafting 
for King Olaf :— 

Seventy ells and four extended 

On the grass the vessel's keel ; 
High above it, gilt and splendid. 
Rose the figure-head ferocious 

With its crest of steel. 

The red dragon was borne by Henry VII. in remembrance of 
Cadwalladr, the last king of Wales, his ancestor. 

Phil Robinson tells us that the Nagas, or Snake-men, have a 
legend that long ago they possessed their land ; " but were driven 
into the hill fastnesses which they now mhabit by successive waves 


380 Tk* GttUUmmis 

oT jnmion, and that their great c^Nain md firiot^ — *9ieri^* the 
King of Sopects — fled underground, and in «'«"*t* of the nn- 
l^t from which he had been exikd, created die Kantlii-ataoe^ dwr 
brilliant than a whole rock of diamond, bj dte li^t of wfakh he 
keeps Uie diary of the earth, and lolemnfy racordt the pro ccaii oo of 
the ages. The Chendcee Indians of the WeM hare rnndii ttie nine 
Iq^end as the Nagas of the East, and Mis. Heaaans idtas to 
■* the mi^ity terpcnt-kiac 
Midtt the grey todu, lui old ^~— '"i 

who is supposed to dwell in the cential rececaes of the d 
the chief of the rattlesnakes, and whov though sabi 
honoured as 'the light-giTer.' " Thecobmdecsfiello is the guardian 
deity of the negroes of Issapoo, in the island of Fernando Po^ and 
can, saya the author of the " Golden Bough," "do them good or ill, 
bestow riches or inflict disease and death. The skin of one of 
these reptiles is hung tail downwards from a tvanch of the hi^iest 
tree in the public square, and the placing of it on the tree ii an 
annual ceremony. As soon as the ceremony is over, all childreo 
bom within the past year are carried out, and their hands made to 
touch the tail of the serpent's skin." It will be remembered that 
serpent-worship is part of the horrible Voodoo myateiies (tOl 
practised by n^roes in AiHca and HaytL According to a 
Portuguese writer, the sudden appeanmce dt a cobra in a hooae is 
regarded as a message from the divinity, and may presage either a 
blessing or a disaster. Snakes are supposed to have a specii] 
predilection for lavender and fennel — " More pleased my senae^" 
said Satan to Eve, " than smell of sweetest fenn el ; " but bemlod, 
southernwood, and me, they hate and flee from. The Furies aflected 

Reptile Lore. 381 

And known to us all is the terrible snake-wreathed beauty of 
Medusa ; nor should Keats's magnificent description of the Lamia 
be forgotten : 

A palpiuting snake 
Bright and drqae-couchant in a dusky brake ; 
She was a Gordian shape of dazzling hue, 
Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue ; 
Striped like a zebra, freckled like a perch, 
£y«l like a peacock, and all crimson* barred ; 
And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed, 
Dissolved, or brighter shone, or interwreathed 
Their lustiei with the gloomier tapestries— 
So ndnbow-sided, touched with miseries. 
She seemed, at once, some penanced lady elf. 
Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self. 
Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire 
Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne's tiar : 
Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet ! 
She had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete : 
And for her eyes — what could such eyes do there 
But weep, and weep, that they were born so fiedr? 
As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air. 
Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake 
Came, as though bubbling honey, for love's sake. 

A very quaint snake story is that of the ancestress of the 
Lusignan family. ** M^lusine," says Miss Yonge, " was a nymph 
who became the wife of the Lord de Leezignan, or Lusignan, on 
condition that he should never intrude upon her on a Saturday ; of 
course, after a long time, his curiosity was excited, and stealing a 
glance at his lady in her solitude, he beheld her a serpent from the 
waist downward! With a terrible shriek, she was lost to him for 
ever ; but she left three sons, all bearing some deformity, of whom 
Geofiroi au grand dent was the most remarkable. Prose makes 
this gentleman the son of Eustachie Chabot, heiress of Vouvont ; 
but the M^lusine tradition lingers round his castle of Lusignan, 
near Poictiers ; and, to this day, at the fairs of that city, gingerbread 
cakes are sold with human head and serpent tail, and called 
Mdusines. A cri de Merlusine is, likewise, a proverbial expression 
for a sudden scream, recalling that with which the unfortunate 
(aity discovered the indiscretion of her lord." Serpent metamorphoses 
were common enough in Greek mythology. Cadmus and his wife 
Hermione were so transformed by Zeus, and removed to Elysium, 
i^^ulapius assumed that form when he appeared at Rome at a 
time of pestilence; and legends tell that Jupiter Ammon, in the 
form of a serpent, was the father of Alexander the Great 

383 The GeiUleman's Afagantt*. 

There are, as "every school-boy knowa," no nakei or mf 
other venomous creatures in Ireland St ^trick drove tbem all 
away ; and the very last snake he shut up in an iron boi, and fliu% 
it into a little tarn near Killamey. According to an Irith ihym^ 
all the creatures made their exit in a dioraiighly Hibeniiui nutnner : 

The touli went Sop, the &agi «<nt hop, 

Slap b«ng into the mter. 
The tDftket committed snkide 

To Mve themselTes from tUnghtw. 

Of the adder or viper various odd storiea were rif& "The 
Druids," says a writer on natural history, "were said to derive 
superhuman power from the possession of an adder's efg^ The 
reptiles were watched, and when they rose into the air with the 
coveted egg, the watchers shouted, and the egg being dropped and 
caught by the Druid before reaching the earth, he iin for his lifis, 
all the brood of vipers pursuing ; if the Druid managed to croas 
a river, he was safe ; but if caught before so doing his life was for-' 
feited to the fangs of the incensed adders." Among the Romans 
parricide was punished by drowning the murderer tied op in a 
sack with a viper ; and our forefathers looked on viper Ixoth as 
a wholesome and invigorating potion. King Olaf^ Christian and 
saint, chose to slay Raud the Strong in a peculiarly btKtible manner 
by means of an adder : 

Then King Olaf said : " O Sea-King I 
Little time have we for speaking, 
Choose between the good and evil : 
Be baptised, or tboa shalt die 1 " 

Reptile Lore. 383 

and loved so well her Roman Antony that she could take death to 
her heart unshrinking for his sake : 

I died a queen. The Roman soldier found 
Me lying dead, my crown about my brows. 

A name for ever ! — lying robed and crowned. 
Worthy a Roman ^use. 

The Crocodile— the " Mugger " of Kipling's wonderful " Jungle 
Book" — ^was deified by the ancient Egyptians, who seem to have 
had rather a catholic taste in deities. At Dendara the priests arrayed 
their scaly godships in necklaces and earrings— one rather wonders 
whether Uiey cast lots as to who should " bell the cat." 

Clouds of incense woo thy smile, 
Scaly monarch of the isle. 

Hie crocodile can not only "&lsely weep," as Heber complains, 
but can prove himself near akin to the wolf of little Red Ridinghood. 
Southey tells us of a woman whose child was devoured by one, and 
who went for redress to the King of them all : 

The King of the Crocodiles never does wrong, 
He has no taU so stiff and strong. 
He has no tail to strike and slay, 
But he has ears to hear what I say. 

She was strongly advised against interviewing him, but " a wilful 
woman " — und so wetter. The King listened politely j then— 

" Ye have said well," the King replies, 
And fixed on her his little eyes ; 
*< Good woman, yes, you have said right, 
But you have not described me quite. 
I have no tail to strike and slay. 
And I have ears, to hear what you say, 
I have teeth, moreover, as you may see. 
And I will make a meal of thee.*' 

" The tortis is a hinseck," said the harassed railway porter; but, 
apart from the zoological aspect of the subject, it seems hardly 
respectful so to class the creature whose shell rocked the greatest 
monarch of France — Henri IV. — whose unique cradle is still shown 
at Pau ; and indeed the personage who — in one branch of his 
family — provides turtle soup for our mayor and aldermen merits 
greater deference of mention. The ancients had a certain venera- 
tion for it ; its blood was thought an antidote to venom ; its unex- 
pected appearance was a very auspicious omen ; it was always part 
of the stock-in-trade of the astrologer, alchemist, or empiric j and 
Romeo's apothecary hung one in his *' needy shop." The Medici 

384 The GentUnuais Magtumt. 

took u one of tbor badges a tottoiw " ooder fitll nO," with the 
tootto^ " Festina lente " — which recalls the penercring and dcaenedly 
victorious tortoise of Sjk/^ " The Red Indian," s^ PhO Robin- 
aoo, "to this day says that in the begjnning of things diere was 
nothing but a tortoise; It brooded uptm qwce ; covered Cbaoa widi 
a lid. But after a while it woke ap ; its solitair existence was 11^- 
some to it, and it sank splendidly into die abysmal depths ; and 
lo ! when it re-emerged, there was the teirestiial ^be upon lis 
bade I For something to do it had fished up our earth from the 
depths in the protoplasmic fluids, and rather than be idle it still 
keeps on holding it up. But some day it will sink again, and then 
will come the End—with Ragnarok and Annageddoo. In Gtedc 
and Roman fancies the tortoise hardly bres so welL It is the form 
into which a bright nymph, who had jested at the nuptials of Zeos 
and Hei^ was turned by Mercury ; and ridicule fidls upon the 
greatest of the Greeks when a tortoise &lls upon bis head. Yet 
they too knew of the tradition of the world-su[qx>rting thing, and 
did reverence to it. And so, from East to Wes^ from antiquity to 
today, the creature, vast, ponderous, inert, has commanded, and 
commands, the homage of man," 

It would be dangerously prolix to pursue the reptiles further 
among their many varieties, nearly all of which have their own qnutd 
folklore, though none perhaps approaches in interest that which 
surrounds the serpent, who, whether as arch-tempter in Paradise 
or the symbol of saving in the wilderness, is a subject of more 
fascination and interest than any of his scaly kin. 




IN this pleasure-loving age, when health, money, and time are the 
principal requirements for the holiday-seeker, and when by the 
aid of science and the enterprising tourist-agents distance is of 
secondary consideration, variety of choice makes it difficult to select 
the location for a holiday. Few, however, realise the many ad- 
vantages of a holiday amid the snow-clad mountains of Norway, 
which can now, comparatively speaking, be easily reached in a few 
hours. It is difficult to imagine that in thirty-six hours from Eng- 
land you are landed amidst the romantic fjords and peoples of 
Northern Europe. It is a relief to both mind and body to be in 
the peaceful valleys of these quiet sturdy Norsemen, who appear to 
harmonise, both in their dispositions and their country. Simple 
and primitive in their habits, the people appear to be only here 
and there tainted with that love of money by which nations and 
peoples are losing some of their finest characteristics. 

Only once during a recent tour was this love of money demon- 
strated, by a very small urchin who, at one of the landing stations, was 
attempting, fortunately without success, to exchange five shillings 
for the same number of kroner, by which he hoped to clear 7^. 
However, no one of the party was tempted, so we may anticipate 
that here, at least, the beginning of usury was nipped in the bud. 

Many people are prevented from taking the journey to Norway 
through fear of the passage across the North Sea, but the difficulties 
of the voyage are not so great as is thought; no inconvenience 
worth consideration is experienced, and the pleasure upon waking 
up on the second morning of the journey to find oneself in smooth 
water is a delight beyond the realisation of dreams. This was the 
writer's experience when, journeying from Newcastle, he found him- 
self quietly gliding up the Bukkenfjord on the way to the pic- 
turesque little hamlet of Sand. Here it is possible either to remain 
on the yacht or to take an overland excursion to Odda. 

386 The GentUnum's M0gasm$» 

A* a starting-point to the beauties <A Nonny Uie latter ibould be 
undertaken, as you aie thus introduced to a veritable panonma of 
loveliness which it is impossible for pra to describe. After landing, 
and having secured one of the national means of loctnaotioa, ifae 
stolkjaerres, which, although not particularly attractive in appearance^ 
are very comfortable to ride in, you proceed throngh a well-wooded 
countiy to Osen. Here you embark on a small but cnmoicot 
steamer down the Suldal lake. This lake, one of nature^ greet 
masterpieces, opens with die Svldals Fnten, formed by two moun- 
tains wluch, looked at from a short distance, appear like one solid 
rock through which no possible outlet is apparent ; but with a tun 
of the helm the passage between these immense walls is eanty 
effected, and for some fifteen miles a lake full of lorelinesa and 
beauty is traversed, and in a period &r too short the pictaieeqne 
village of Naes is reached Here for the night you rest, and a little 
breathing-dme is afforded for a stroll, enabling yoa to I 
the possibilities still in store for lovers of the beautifuL 

An early t)reakbst, when the ever-welcome trout ] 
appearance, is necessary, for much ground has U be i 
MountiDg your stolkjaerre, you commence the journey of the Bnt- 
lands Valley ; this is entered by a new road cut out of the solid 
rock, and by its side comes tumbling down over rocks and boolden 
of immense size the Bratlands Foss, oneof the finest in Nocway, and 
one which, on account of its great length, ytdds possibly more power 
than the mighty Niagara Falls. The beauty of this valley it is im- 
possible to describe : you journey past water well atocted with trait 
and other kinds of fish ; over bridges which occaaionally make the 
hardest nerves shake, skirting the Roldal Lake ; and after tiding of 
almost a switchback character, you arrive at Breifond bodi miiKi and 

" Through Norway by Yacht and Stolkjaerres. 387 

water which, in the afternoon sunshine, was surrounded by a raany- 
hued rainbow of exquisite beauty. Fertile valleys and small but 
well-kept farms where the grass Is being cut and hung out to dry 
bring the traveller to Odda. Although tired, it is with a certain 
reluctance that you leave your stolkjaerre, with its gig-like appear- 
ance and its intelligent driver. Most of these drivers, who sit behind 
you holding the reins, know a little English. Last but by no means 
least of the many agreeable factors in the pleasures of the journey, 
are the sturdy Norwegian ponies who have brought you nearly forty 
miles, frequently at a pace which would do credit to horses with 
better food and surroundings. It is wonderful how these sure- 
footed ponies gauge almost to an inch the right tireie when to walk, 
trot, gallop, or stop. 

Upon getting aboard you steam down the Sor Fjord. This 
great inland-sea lake leads into the Hardanger Fjord, and is full of 
romantic and impressive scenery. Coasting between the islands and 
mainland you arrive at Bergen, the second largest city in Norway. 
Here there is little of interest beyond the old Hansealic merchants' 
warehouses, their German church, and the museums. The centre 
of attraction to the ordinary visitor is the fish-market, where live 
fish of all kinds are offered for sale. To be able to choose your 
fish alive and have it placed before you for approval is a novelty 
seldom experienced. From large tanks, through which a plentiful 
supply of salt water is kept continually running, the fish, in which 
all the tints of the rainbow are represented, are brought to the 
surface with a sort of wooden gridiron, and the careful housewife 
may be here seen driving a keen bargain with the fishermen, 
while the fish with pitiful took is wriggling in anxious suspense. 
The prawns here were delicious ; the very memory of them sets 
one's mouth watering. 

The Bei^en Museum is full of old Viking and Norse memories, 
some of the furniture being of national and historic interest ; the 
collection of animals and birds is also extremely valuable. 

After leaving Bergen, we pass between the many islands which 
axe dotted around this coast, with an occasional glimpse of the sea. 
Entering Sognefjord, we are on the way to Gudvangen, a picturesque 
little hamlet nestling at the foot of lofty mountains 5,000 feet ia 
height, and apparently entirely shut in from the outside world, A 
short trip from here is the Statheim Hotel, standing at the head of 
the Naerodal. This hotel is reached by a zigzag of more than 
orditiary difficulty, but its ascent scarcely repays the tourist, for 
although on the way up two very fine waterfalls are passed, leading 

388 TAe Gentleman^s Mc^asin*. 

yoa to anticipate greater beauties as you ascend, 70U are dia^ipt^nted ; 
and on returning to youi stolkjaerre, tired and veaiy, you feel that yoo 
have not been repaid for your exertioiu. 

The grey sugar-loaf Jordalsnuten, rising netriy 4,000 feet, is a 
striking object in the Naerodal, and at its base fw some miles nins 
one of the finest salmon streams in Norway, irtiicb makes yoa wish 
to linger in this charming and delightful vallay. Passing down the 
Naero Fjord into the Sognefjord, we sail west and then north into 
the Nordfjord, and the yacht makes itsway toLoen, whereaddi^- 
fiil excursion can be taken by those who are good walkers. At a 
distance of about three miles from the foot of Loen lake yon are 
enabled to visit and sit upon the fnnge of the gre^ Kjaciidalobtae 
(gteder). This is a rough and trying walk, and none but good 
pedestrians should attempt it. It was a pleasant sight at Loen, at 
the end of July, to see the busy haymakers with their toylike stTthes 
cutting as much grass as they could conveniently hang on their drying 
poles. These drying arrangements, which are cleverly coostmcted, 
consist of some five or six long poles tied at each end by stmog 
withy bands to posts fixed in the ground ; when the grass is sufficiently 
dry it is carried into small houses and stored for winter use. No 
hayricks are made, as they would probably be swept away dating 
the terrible winter tiroe. In the churchyard, near the gate^ is to be 
seen a fine old stone cross which formerly stood at KMsvik, "the 
bay of the Cross " by the fjord below. Suspended from the ro<rf of 
the church is a model of a S°-SU° frigate, dating from about 1666 ; 
and nailed to the chance) screen is the sword of a certain lieutenant, 
to which is attached a very interesting little tradition. 

It is only a short tun from Loen to Visnaes, where you enter 
upon one of the finest excursions in Norway, that to Videsaeter, 

Through Norway by Yacht and Stolkfaerres. 389 

steep ascent to Videsaeter. This is a long climb, and to the middle- 
aged a rather wearisome performance ; but when the hotel is reached 
and you have taken some refreshment, you can look back with much 
pleasurable satisfaction upon the mountains and valleys through 
which you have travelled; your troubles are^ however, far from 
ended, as another sharp dimb is necessary before the top, over 4,000 
feet, is reached. After this you traverse a long rocky barren defile, 
with wild bleak snow-covered mountains on either side and cold icy 
waters running through the pass. A refreshing cup of tea at a hut 
by the wayside brings you, after a ride of over thirty miles, to Grotlid, 
where night seemed impossible. The crispness of the air, blowing 
in far from gentle breezes over the snow-clad mountains, and the 
barrenness of the whole district, make the contemplative mind 
realise that nature owes much to civilisation in regard both to the 
comfort and the progress of a country. 

The hotel where we stayed was also a goat-farm, and appeaifed to 
be the beginning and end of all that was at Grotlid. These goats 
are evidently the principal inhabitants of the place, and they certainly 
attracted the greatest attention, especially at milking-time. The way 
this is done is both amusing and comical. The girls take the goats 
between their legs, the head on one side and the body the other, 
holding them thus between their knees while milking. The goats 
waited very patiently to be milked, and many of them yield a large 
supply. The traveller is fortunate should he be at Grotlid when the 
Esquimaux come down to this place for pasturage for their herds 
of reindeer ; such was the case when we were there. Calling at the 
tent we were graciously received by the lady tent-keeper, who with 
extremely dirty hands and with her two small youngsters did the 
honours of the establishment We were invited to see the family 
cooking-arrangements, which consisted principally of two large pots 
or kettles suspended over a smouldering wood-fire, and containing a 
hotch-potch or stew, rather greasy in appearance, gently simmering 
for the evening meal ; the floor was strewn with green boughs which, 
with a head-rest, formed their sleeping accommodation. 

At the hotel, for supper a haunch of reindeer formed the principal 
joint; this must be eaten under similar circumstances to be thoroughly 
appreciated. The wife and children were in gorgeous array early 
next morning, when the Laplander brought his herd of about three 
hundred reindeer to parade before us. The patriarchal head of the 
herd was a fine buck which the I^plander led ; his horns were covered 
with hair as soft as silk, and he seemed to look on his followers with 
a great amount of fatherly pride. Together this gathering made a 

390 The GentUmatis Magttxmt. 

pleisant picture of another counttT*! inhabitants and ways. A kng 
atolkjaene ride fotiowed, passing many lakes, giacietB, and tnoaotaini^ 
which were too numerous to be apfwedated at their ndue. After 
luncheon at Djupvand, we continued ooi journey to Marok bf one 
(rf the most terribly majestic and awe-in^Hiing routes it is ponible 
to imagine. Between the brink of the descent and Harok the 
distance is about ten miles, but in a stiaight line baidy fiMtr, and 
the difference in height is over 3,000 feet It is impossitde to girc 
even a vague idea of the awful beauty of the scene ; the road 
descends rapidly in sharp dgzags, which even with these suielboted 
ponies it seems almost dangerous to tiaverse ; now passit^ a tartoons 
overhanging road with a drop of hundreds of feet \ now ];Minring over 
torrents of water over which most horses wouM refiise to pass ; now 
whirling round comers and agzags which were too nnioeffoas to 
counL The road is unique of its kind— it is a v^table ttiiini[di of 
engineering skill, the sudden and tremendous plunge it takes being 
onrivatled even among the Alps. You hold on to your sbd^aene 
in terror, thinking it will give you hd]^ for anything at that moment 
si^ests security. As you pass each set of these tortuous ways yon 
think you are coming to the last, but another group to your dis- 
eomfiture immediately unfolds itself; and so, with bated breath and 
driven almost to despair, you reach the last turn and a feeling of 
relief passes through your mind. Embarking once more npoD die 
yacht and leaving Marok, you pass the Seven Sisters Watetftll and 
niasnve Pulpit Rock, and, to the accompaniment of a grand echo fion 
a discharged rocket, you glide down the beautifiil Geiranger Ffocd. 

Enchanted and enchained by the enthralliogly magnificent soeneiy, 
this fjord is perhaps one of the most beautiAil in Norway, «{di its 
peaks of snow and here and there its cultivated valleys i 


Through Norway by Yachi and Stolkjaerres. 391 

the principal attraction is the magnificent panoramic view which 
opens up on the other side of this fjord. For many miles mountains 
tipped with snow are visible, showing a stretch of scenery almost 
Alpine in its grandeur, and unsurpassed by any district on the 
Western coast. The air is particularly crisp and stimulating, and 
should be capable of bringing health and vigour to the most jaded 
and depressed ; to linger here in quietude and rest would be the 
very acme of enjoyment. 

Before leaving this district, Veblungsnaess must be visited, to see 
the mighty Romsdaishom and the imposing Troldtinder, These 
are passed on the way to Horgheim. Several well-known English- 
men have residences in this beautiful valley, which has also many 
well-ananged farms, and running through it is a well-stocked 
salmon stream. Upon our visit to Veblungsnaess we were followed 
by the German Emperor in his beautiful yacht the " Hohenzollern," 
from which he disembarked with his ^etinue of state officers and 
military and naval men. He appeared in good health and spirits, 
and was well bronzed and ruddy. He could be easily recognised in 
his straw bat, brown tweed suit, and red tie, and appeared to appre- 
ciate the courteous recognition tendered to him by his uncle's 
subjects ; this welcome was far warmer than that given him by the 
natives of the district. 

The Kaiser was driving out to Horgheim to lunch. A tent with 
refreshments had been previously sent on, packed in what looked 
like ammunition chests ; he rode in his private stolkjaerre, preceded 
by his courier and a magnificent boar-hound, and followed by his 
suite riding in ordinary stolkjaerres. It was a strange sight to see 
the advisers of this subtle maker of history being driven by old 
country farmers and boys to this festive picnic, intending to enjoy 
themselves in a quiet rural retreat, when {July 1904) in Europe the 
question of peace and war was hanging very evenly in the balance. 
It was most interesting to note that the Germans, in making their 
arrangements with the Norwegian drivers, spoke to them in English 
— plainly showing the advantage of the English language over the 

In leaving Norway, with Its mountains and Qords, one cannot 
help asking. What is the future and what are the possibihties of this 
marvellous country ? The people appear honest, thrifty, and wedded 
to the soil, yet few make more than a bare livelihood ; the country is 
full of commercial resources if it were possible to utilise them. Un- 
doubtedly the country is being drained of its young men through 
the want of openings for their labour and enterprise. Whether or 


39^ ^^ Gentkmtuit M«^gatim«» 

not some of its best blood, after gsthering experience umd odieT 
sunoimdings, will retam and aid in its derdofmunt, ts > questioo 
which time only can dedde. There are af^orendy no beggats, and 
even the children who opened the gates looked anodier way, evi> 
dently fearing that some one might tempt them to lake a copper. 

If the weather be fine no pait of such a ht^iday as is hen 
described is pleasantei dun the voyage home. With a mind stoed 
with all the marvels seen in moontainous Honray, refleOtOD is ea^ 
and agreeaUe ; and a body itimolated and strengthened by the 
invigcffBting air, whidt has gathered purity and beslth-^viog pro- 
perties from its sonottndings, makes you fed that life is indeed 
worth living. On a well-eqnipped British steamer, amusements of 
all S(»ts are provided. Concert^ &ncy-dress balls, dandi^ qxxts 
among both passengers and crew, are a source of continnal enjoy- 
ment ; and so, with many r^rets, you say good-bye to your tempomy 
floating home and your new-found acquaintances, with ttte very 
sincere desire that it may soon be possible to repeat both holiday 
and voyage. 




THE tender blue of the Inland Sea, fading into milky whiteness 
on the horizon, lies steeped in an intensity of dreamy calm 
which steals colour as well as sound from the motionless waters. A 
junk, with square-set orange sails, floats down a winding channel 
between fairy shores, and a brown fishing-boat, like '* painted ship 
on painted ocean," mirrors itself in the glassy tide. Countless 
islands stud the tranquil reaches, and lie like emerald bosses on 
an azure shield, a dark fringe of pines on a narrow promontory 
whispering in shell-like murmurs to the listening sea. Myriad bays 
dimple the rocky coast, where fishermen mend their nets, or count 
the silver-scaled /ai-fish l]ring in glittering heaps on the rim of 
yellow sand. Brown-thatched villages nestle in granite hollows, and 
miniature ricefidds terrace the conical hiUs, wherever footing can be 
found for the Japanese staff of life. Islets, dark and pine-clad, or 
bare and mountainous, display fantastic form and enchanting colour. 
Purple headlands enclose land-locked lakes, and blue peaks 
crowned by black and white castles afford endless varieties of scenic 
beauty, the lofty columns and upcurved cross-bar of red torii^ the 
distinctive gateways of Shinto temples, surmounting flights of mossy 
steps leading to sanctuaries hidden in shadowy groves. The velocity 
of the tides rushing through the maze of channels is shown by the 
junks heeling over from side to side as they swing from one point 
to another of the intricate course, and frequent lighthouses on 
outlying rocks warn the mariner off the shoals and quicksands 
which endanger the navigation of these poetic waters. Grotesque 
blocks of granite jut out in weird contours, ascribed by Japanese 
imagination to supernatural agencies which petrified the figures of 
gods and demons as the eternal guardians of the Inland Sea, and 
the architecture of monastic buildings gains enduring stability 
from the imperishable material quarried in the wave-washed cliffs* 
The towns and villages of the islands are innumerable, and 
the forests of tall green rushes at the water's edge supply employ- 
ment for the women in making the ordinary house-mats of Japan* 

VOL. CCXCVIL NO. 2086. £ S 

394 "^^ Gtntiemaiis Aft^OMtm*. 

The industiy of the mce is provetbtaJ, and in s deep buboor 
protected by stone piers, all the anchors of the Inland Se> are maiia- 
bctured. The village on the heights prodoces liquetm flamnied 
with chiysanthemum and plum-blossom, the latter, aa the emblem of 
long life, being considered eSacioua in warding off age or death, and 
the precious elixii correspondingly valued amid the manj> perils of a 
^fnfrnng communi^. Little shrines of Kwanncra, the gentle Goddea 
di Mercy, perch on grey crags above whiripool and shoal, that the 
fisherman may commend himsdf in the moment of danger to the 
divjni^ whose willingness to aid her votaries ia symbolised by 
ber thousand hands. In the centre of the Ondo Strait stands a 
fptmt lantern of grey and time-worn atone on a pedestal hong with 
green garlands of swaying seaweed. IWdidon asserts that the 
channel, choked by rocks falling into it on each side, was newly 
excavated by Kyomori, a Sbogun <^ the Taira linc^ who in (be 
twelfth centaiy removed the capitid from Kyoto to Fnkawata, on (be 
{rnsent ^te of Kobe, at the head of the Inland Sea. Impaliendy 
he watched the danting shadows and waning gold of Ae brief 
twilight as it fiuled into the n^h^ which threatened to stop the 
progress oi the noA, and in his arrogance he ordered the san to 
stand still until his task was completed. The presumptuoos command 
was obeyed, but the great Goddess of the Sun, Ama-Tean, 
avenged the insult offered her by ezterminatii^ this Japanese 
Joshua, and the lantern is regarded by the awe-stnick fiihermeo H 
Kyomori's funeral pyre, eternally washed by the waves in the place 
where be d^ed ^» divine "Heaven-Shiner." Further on lie* Ae 
beauteous island of Miyajima, sacred to a trio of Shinto goddeae^ 
and r^arded as one of the samUti, or three principal aghti of 
Japan. The behest peak rises two thousand feet above the sea, and 

A Cruise on the Inland Sea. 


rows of stone lanterns, eight hundred in number, and lighted at 
dusk, culminate in the colossal vanguard of the host, planted in the 
sea, and already throwing a steady gleam on the incoming tide. The 
first island sanctuary dates from the sixth century, but the earliest 
archives of Miyajima were destroyed by a great fire in a-d, 
1548, and no authentic source of information is available until the 
twelfth century, when the Shogun Kyomori, the virtual ruler of the 
Empire, restored the ruined sanctuary, making it the noblest shrine 
in Western Japan. The boy Mikados, successive shadows of 
sovereignty, generally governed by the Shogun's kinswomen, vied 
with the Daimios of the neighbouring provinces in benefactions to 
the temple wherein they constantly worshipped. The Buddhist priests, 
who had usurped the sanctuaries of decaying Shintoism, were ex- 
pelled from the shrines of the more ancient faith when Shinto was 
"purified" and exalted to ftesh power in 1S71. Although the 
religious upheaval wrought havoc on the artistic treasures which 
enriched the Buddhist altars, the temples, identical in design, and 
venerable from ages of history, were seldom in themselves antique, 
as the perishable woodwork needs constant renewal in a humid 
climate. Even in this granite-bound region of the Inland Sea the 
wooden architecture derived from the aboriginal hut, and retaining 
the contours of Mongolian tents, was strictly adhered to. The Chinese 
term "Shinto" signifies "Way of the Gods," the system combining 
Nature- worship with the cult of ancestors. This indigenous creed 
of ancient Japan ineffectively rivals Buddhism, fortified by philosophy, 
dogma, and ritual; for the innate immorality of Shinto doctrine, 
manifested in the maxim, " Fulfil all your natural impulses, and be 
loyal to the Mikado," leaves the practical direction of conduct in 
the hands of the Buddhist priesthood. Innumerable creeds are 
absorbed in the deep ocean of Buddhism, and assimilated with it. 
Mythological monsters, deities of India and China, prophets and 
sages of various nationalities, occupy niches in the world-embracing 
pantheon of the system which becomes all things (o all men 9s 
it travels eastward. The subtleties of Cingalese and Burmese 
Buddhism, which suggest transmigration as a transference of character 
nther than of personality, solidify in Japan to actual reincarnation, 
a method of accepting Shinto gods as temporary manifestations of 
Buddhist saints. The orthodoxy which represents \Mv forttf libe- 
rated by death as re-entering the newly born, the last ebb of the 
receding waters becoming the first wave of the flowing tide, was too 
shadow; for common acceptance, and the materialism of lupplemen- 
taiy teaching was readily conceded. The severe simplicity of the 



396 Tk* G4tdkmm£s Magnim. 

Shinto temple is unique and e«ii ip li fi et die nla idt^oui idea 
wfaidi bmowt Dotbing from the ovenbadowiog taHnmre of Cbiu 
00 J^paneie thongfat Tbe Sun Godden, tnditiaoil ancotraa of 
the ** Heaven-bom " Mikadoi, ii die npieme deity, and aoggeda 
the derivstioa of Shinto belief from that ptdiiitaric Son-wofd^ 
which gilds the dim borderiand of legend and mydb God* of wind 
and sea, thunder snd min, fire and peatileDce, alternate with deified 
hen>es, their nuiks continaallj added tov and their imagea gnatdad 
by priests tradidonally descended from the dinnidei they aene. 
Apart from the oSiBrings of rice and fruit, the sacred danoe^ and an 
oGcanonal oiadon, Shinto has no senrices, the cnrtained nnetoaiy, 
magic mirror In which the worshipper only beholds himad^ and 
paper gphei inscribed with foimal prayers, accnratdy symbcdinng 
the forlorn dreariness of the hopeless creed. The plastic Japanese, 
even when professing adhoeoce to the State rdi^on, tteqnoidy com- 
birtes it with the more congenial Buddhism whidi he fennaUj 
renounces, for to the astute and secretive mind nnderiying the super* 
goal candour of an artless manner the end genenlly Jostifiiei the 

The colossal iorii of indestructible camphorwood, wfaidi stands 
in the sea opposite the red colonnades and galleties of the great 
Miyajima temple, is a favourite subject for tbe artistS bni^ and 
makes an imposing picture. The sacred gateway cooseoates eroi 
the surrounding waters which ripple against the grey *^"""tf^ and 
cast up fairy shells and feathery seaweed to bang in woven g"HiiTwTt 
round the base of each mighty pillar. The scariet temple beyond 
built out on wooden piles above die waves, seems at faig^ tide to 
float upon the blue water, emphasising the red maxe of deader 
shafts, bridges, and conidon leading to a gallery 700 feet loo^ 

R[ A Cruise on tlie Inland Sea. 397 ^| 

bs of that inystecious nature, lie forces and ft;elings incalculable <; 

and incomprehensible to an alien stock, but consolidated by the 
bloodstained centuries of the Japanese past. The dual temperament 
of the people has been fitly symbolised by the brilliant butterfly 
poised upon the bloody sword ; and baffied thought glances olT con- 
tinually from the polished surface which suffers no penetration of the 
enigmatical character beneatli. The passionate patriotism fostered 
by ages of national isolation from the modifying influences of the 
outside world, attains unique heights of fiery enthusiasm, for the 
military ardour of Japan inculcates not only absolute self-sacrifice, 
but the immolation, if need be, of all those nearest and dearest to 
the soldier's heart in the general holocaust, rather than one leaf 
should be lost from the laurels of giory. Women vie with men in 
ruthless adherence to a pagan ideal ; and though the heart may 
break beneath the aspect of triumphant joy, the Japanese wife or 
mother scorns to lament husband and son slain in battle. " Once a 
Japanese, aiways a Japanese," said a pretty mommi, checking her 
light laughter with sudden solemnity, as a stranger alluded to the 
marvellous adaptability of her nation ; and for a moment the un- 
tamable soul of old Japan Gashed through the almond eyes and 
banished the coquettish mirth of their normal expression, for this 
proverb, of universal application, is considered the safeguard and 
talisman of the race. The pines and camphor trees of the island 
paradise shelter herds of antlered deer, and contain supplementary 
temples in the green shades traditionally peopled by gods and fairies. 
Fanciful legends are told of sick deer roaming the woods with their 
mouths bound by the rice-straw ropes of Shinto shrines, and refusing 
food until recovery loosens the miraculous bandage. The innocent 
creatures follow the visitors with touching confidence, nestling their 
graceful heads against us, eating from our hands, and seeking 
caresses. Immemorial ages of security result in absolute fearless- 
ness; dogs are forbidden on holy Miyajiraa, and the gentle herd 
affords a retrospective glimpse of unfallen Eden, before the animal 
world had lost the divine birthright of peace. The native designation 
of Miyajima is "The isle without death," and an ancient edict 
forbade either birth or death to occur on this sacred spot. If a 
child is bom unexpectedly, the mother is banished for thirty days to 
the mainland ; and though dying inhabitants are no longer removed 
in exlrtmis, the dead are at once rowed across the strait for burial, 
the mourners also remaining in the mainland village for fifty days of 
ceremonial purification. Green avenues wind through parklike 
scenery to mountain tops, and paths beneath beech and pine skirt 



398 The Gentleman's Magazine, 

the jellow clifi, the white and russet suls of iimutiMnUe jmiks 
addU^ life and interest to the entnmdng beauty of the Inland Sea. 
Dense woods mask a frowning fort, and the guns pointed in e v ei y 
direction across the labyrinth of channels bring this island oT 
dreams and shadows within touch of that new civilisation wherewith 
modem Japan adds a materialistic ftamework to the myths and 
foncies of an earlier day. Success must be attained, even throng 
seas of blood, and Buddhism, adapting itself to Japanese idiosyn- 
crasy, asserts that whoever dies for his country is immediatdy 
reincarnated under more advantageous conditions than those of hi^ 
present state. This doctrine, rooted in popular belief, affords the 
only consolation to many a troubled soul suffeiing dire straits <A 
poverty and pain with a cheerful contentment which claims un- 
qualified admiration. " Wisdom is justified of all her childroi,* 
for though misu and shadows darken counsel, or veO the fact of 
truth, rays of eternal light may pierce the sombre doad hui^ 
between earth and heaven, the Divine compassion overflowing 
even into broken cisterns, that thirsting souls may sip the water of 

Beyond the great temple which dominates the waves rises the 
unpainted " Hall of a Thousand Mats," buQt by the Sh(q;un Hide- 
yoshi from the wood of a single camphor tree, to serve as his 
council-chamber when organising the Korean expedition in the 
sixteenth century. The mouldering hall is disfigured by thousands 
of copper rice-ladles hung up, as talismans of good luck, on the 
wooden walls and carved ceilings. A five-storied pagoda crowns a 
green mound outside, the picturesque memento of feudal days, and a 
gaily clad group of pilgrims occupies the scarlet-clad benches of 
, thatched tea-house, where a smiling nfsan with flower-decked 

A Cruise on the Inland Sea. 399 

nunate woodland glades and reflect themselves in the sleeping sea, a 
white-robed band of Utile priestesses from a forest temple dances in 
weird measures to the sound of drum and flute, as a long proces- 
sion with paper lanterns and glittering banners threads the dark 
aisles of pine and camphor trees. The childish faces are plastered 
with white lead, the eyebrows shaved, and the lower lips deeply 
crimsoned. On the highest peak of Miyajima the gathering dusk 
reveals the fitful flame of the sacred hre, traditionally lighted in the 
eighth century by Kobo Daishi, most famous of Buddhist saints, and 
never allowed to go out. This worker of miracles, equally distin- 
guished as preacher, artist, scribe, and traveller, born with his hands 
folded in prayer, was attacked by dragons and sea-monsters on his 
voyage to Miyajima, but he drove them away by parting his lips to 
disclose the rays of the evening star, which fell from heaven into 
his mouth. Sent to China as a student in a.d. 804, he brought 
thence to Japan the tenets of the Shingon Buddhists, a sect of 
mystics, primarily inculcating magic spells, incantations, and the use 
of talismans. Japanese faith declares that death could not vanquish 
one so holy, and that Kobo Daishi merely sleeps in the vaulted 
tomb of the great abbey which he founded, awaiting in peace the 
advent of Miroku, the Buddhist Messiah. 

The discomforts of a Japanese inn, spotlessly clean but bitterly 
cold, render a visit to Miyajima a mortification of the flesh, a diet of 
rice and green tea, to which the mysteries of the native cuisine even- 
tually reduce us, proving insufficient to sustain the grovelling spirit. 
A greasy soup full of floating sprats, the malodorous taikon, a huge 
radish of appalling flavour, salted fruits and sugared flsh, accompanied 
by sauces of unimaginable horror^ soon satisfy our craving for new 
experiences, also modified by the embarrassment of chopsticks and 
the unwinking gaze of the kneeling ncsan who places the little tray 
on the floor, and, after repealed prostrations, watches our feeble 
eflbrts from start to finish. After shivering through two nights 
between the couon quills which form the only bedding, and listening 
to the wind whistling through wooden amadi and paper ihoji of a 
room furnished with two straw mats and a vase of chrysanthemums, 
we beat a retreat from these inhospitable shores, for sleepless nights 
are succeeded by backbreaking days in this chairiess abode, whereto 
lean against the paper walls of the fragile structure is to court burial 
beneath the ruins. 

Iianagi and Izanami, the creative deities of Japan, are supposed 
to have given birth to the island archipelago of Itie Inland Sea, and 
Awazi is mentioned in the earliest legends as the first-born child of 



400 The GgniUmaK's Magazine, 

the divine union which materialised the siuritua! powera of Nature 
The loveliness of the blue harbour, which gives dbtincdve chaiacter 
to this isle of enchantment, has been sung by generations of native 
poets. The temple, founded in a.d. 901, was built as an expiation 
for the involuntary crime of an archer who, on pierdng a stag with 
his arrows, discovered it to be an incarnation of the divine Kwann on, 
whom he had unconsciously wounded. He became a mon^ and a 
sanctuary dedicated to the outraged Goddess of Mercy was erected 
on the spot where the sacril^ous incident occurred. Another 
fantastic tradition belongs to the isle of Ont^ora. Ixanag^ aud 
Izanami, standing on the Floating Bridge of Heaven, pushed a 
jewelled spear into the azure tide of the Inland Sea, stirring up the 
brine into foam. As they drew the shining lance heavenwardf the 
white flakes dripping from the golden point piled themselves up into 
an island, and hardened into rock by the action of sun and wind. 
A sweetmeat of cinnamon, acoms, and sugar, manufactured on 
Awaji, is known as " Floating Bridge," and another made of phims, and 
called " Sound of the Lute," commemorates the music of the spheres 
which echoed across the waves as the miraculous island rose from 
the bosom of the deep. A red shrine in a green bed of rustling 
reeds marks the place where the creative deities first set foot on 
Japan, the ancient " Land of Reeds," a subject constantly repr 
in sketches on fan and tea-tray, kakemono and screen, 
myths of gods and monsters haunt the tilted rocks and gttailed 
pines on the thousand isles of the Inland Sea ; the thunder of the 
waves echoed by reverberating caverns suggested the speech of 
appalling dragons and threatening monsters, for Balaam's ass would 
be the merest commonplace in the fantastic imagery of Japanese 
folklore. The dread typhoon which sweeps across the sky, bringing 

A Cruise on the In And Sea. 401 

the silvery cloud of mist raised by the incantations of this Eastern 
Undine, terra firma vamshes, and the hapless youth lays down his 
life at the siren's feet, a poetic picture of the perils pertaining to a 
fisherman's lot in a fog-bound sea. 

The manners and customs of primitive Japan, considerably 
modified on the mainland by foreign influences, and in deference 
to Western ideas, remain unchanged in isolated districts. As our 
jinrickshas bowl gaily along the highway an elderly gentleman taking 
his afternoon bath by the wayside, to avoid splashing the spotless 
mats inside his house, bows politely to us from amidst the clouds of 
steam which rise from his wooden tub. The daily bath is universal, 
and the cleanliness of the working classes, perpetually boiling them- 
selves in scalding water, is a notable proof of the ancient civilisation, 
which yet recognises no impropriety in public ablutions. 

Before reaching the beautiAil strait of Shimonoseki, broadening 
into a mountain-girt harbour, the steamer passes Danna-ora, the 
scene of the decisive naval battle in a.d. 1185, when the Taira line 
was defeated by the rival clan of Minamoto. A tragic incident 
immortalised the savage contest, giving it a permanent niche in 
Japanese history. In the train of the usurping Taira were the 
widow and daughter of the great Shogun Kyomori, the former a 
Buddhist nun, the latter the Dowager Empress, with her child the 
Mikado, then only six years old. As the tide of battle turned and 
the grandmother of the infant sovereign saw that all hope was lost, 
she clasped the royal child in her arms, and, wrenching herself from 
the agonised grasp of his distracted mother, cast herself with him 
into the sea. A rainy sunset flushes the violet peaks and stains the 
tranquil bay so often reddened with the blood of the brave Samurai^ 
whose warlike annals form the eternal romance of ancient Japan. 
History repeated itself in modern days, when from the opposite bay 
eighteen foreign battleships shelled Shimonoseki with their combined 
fleet, to punish a haughty Daimio for daring to close the entrance 
to these landlocked waters. Seven strong forts now guard the blue 
straits, and preclude further attacks on the water-gate of Central 
and Eastern Japan. The rocky portals shut off from the hurrying 
world of modern life a fair realm of story and song, where imagination 
may still trace the footsteps of those gods and heroes who inspired 
the fantastic dreams dating from the dawn of time, and still lingering 
as potential influences on the haunted shores of the Inland Sea. 


Tkt Gtntlmuuis Magathu. 


IT is a characteristic of our veiy inquiring age to delv^ ts &r u 
may be, into the origin of everythiog ; and it is wdl that diii 
should be, for of art, the drama, and literature the past is an in- 
dispensable handmaid, and those intellectual pleasures are the most 
enduring, the most gratifying to the human taste, which are based 
upon truth and fidelity, whether on the canvas of the painter, is the 
marble of the sculptor, or in the pencra^ of the littiratettr. Taste, 
says Goethe, can only be educated by contemplation, not of die 
tolerably good, but of the truly excellent Where truth, the gracefbl 
"daughter of time," confers her radiant present^ there, sooner or 
Eater, will follow due appreciativeness. XJbi mei, ibi apes. If, for in- 
stance, one were to encounter the sedan chair on the stage amid 
accurately staged surroundings — not forgetting that the simplici^ of 
the hired public chair was in marked contrast to the sumptuouinesi 
of the vehicle used by the noble and the rich — any favourable im- 
pression produced by the mise-enscitu in the mind of the spectator 
would certainly not be diminished by a knowledge of its true his- 
tory and origin. For there is an erroneous notion abroad that this 
singular form of conveyance had its immediate origin in the afiecta^ 
tion of French manners so fashionable in the seventeenth century 

Memoirs of the Sedan Chair. 403 

^covered chair" — for they were rarely alluded to colloquially as 
** sedan " chairs — and were supported by means of resting the poles 
or shafts directly upon the shoulders of the bearers instead of by 
straps suspended from the shoulder. It was this method of support 
which was resented by the populace, who thought the innovation 
turned men into beasts of burden, one writer indeed referring to them 
as ''man-mules."^ In China, as a matter of fitct, the ** man-mule'' 
may be seen to perfection, for the Chinese have a method of carry- 
ing heavy packages after the manner of the palanquin, the long poles 
having transverse supports affixed to them until a large number of 
men can be thus employed at one time. An illustration in Staunton's 
**HistoricalAccountof the Embassy tothe Emperor of China "(p. 297) 
shows a heavy package being carried thus by no fewer than thirty- 
two bearers, sixteen in front and sixteen behind. Another illustra- 
tion in Sir George Staunton's work is of value in showing a contri- 
vance which is believed to correspond closely to the Roman sella 
gestatoria and the modem sedan chair. This conveyance was attached 
to its carrying pole by a thong (as an oar is to its thowl), which was 
fastened down to the shaft like the back-band of a cart, and the 
carrying pole passed through it This carrying pole, which is absent 
in the modem sedan, where the shafts or poles were grasped by the 
hands of the bearer, was raised, and supported the carriage by resting 
on the shoulders of the bearers. If the palanquin form was known 
in France contemporaneously with Buckingham's, I do not know 
any instance, but in Lacroix's " France in the Eighteenth Century "is 
an illustration of a scene in which a sedan chair figures prominently, 
the bearers having straps from the shoulders, while the costume of 
the lady about to enter, who wears 2ifontange^ is of the time of Louis 
XIV. Massinger in the " Bondman " alludes to the palanquin form 
of the sedan chair as a '' litter " when he makes Timagoras apologise 
for " a slave of strange aspect" belonging to his father : — 

Fit for his fortune ; 'tis a strong-limVd knave : 
My father bought him for my sister's litter. 
O pride of women I Coaches are too common — 
They surfeit in the hapinness of peace, 
And ladies think they keep not state enough, 
If, for their pomp and ease, they are not borne 
In triumph on men's shoulders.' 

For the remote origin of the portable covered chair we may look 
to Assyria and to Egypt In a bas-relief of Tiglath-pileser in the 
Assyrian department of the British Museum is represented some 

• Celcstina in Shirley's play, The Lady of Vwici. • Act L sc I. 

404 The GtntUmaiis Ma^ztxe. 

great personage being borne shouldei-liigh in a palanquin, whid), 
however, resembles the sedan chair in that the position oT the occn- 
pant is sedent, and not, as in a litter, recumbent. And in Champcri- 
lion-le-Jeune's "Monuments de I'Egypte et de la Nubie" is 
represented, in plate ad, a conveyance decidedly of the sedan-cbair 
order rather than of the orientally derived kctica used especially for 
reclining upon during transportation. This is supported by twelve 
bearers, six before and six behind. The figure within is that of 
King Honis, and the bearers are, I think, said to be his military 
chiefs. The king is followed and preceded by two fiabellifers. 
Incense is burnt before him, and soldiers conduct African and Anatic 
prisoners. The trumpet proclaims the procession of the king, priests 
chant their eulogies, and all is intended to recall to the populace the 
triumph of their sovereign in Asia and Africa.' Of the Roman 
sedan chair, the sella gesiatoria, no representation is extant, but its 
character can be readily imagined from details provided by Latin 
authors. These details suggest an extremely close resemblance 
to its seventeenth-century antitype. Unlike the accommodation 
afforded by the kctica, the inmate of the sella gestatoria was carried 
in a sitting instead of a recumbent position,^ in just the same mannei 
that the Pope is to this day conveyed to and from some ceremony 
in St. Peter's. Other points of resemblance were that the ancient 
Roman chair was covered with a roof,' and closed both in ^nt and 
at the sides,* but not always sa* 

Possibly it is to the palanquin method of use adopted bj 
Buckingham that Randle Holme somewhat contemptuously alludes 
in his " Armoury " when he describes the sedan chair as " a thing in 
which sick and crazy persons are carried about by two lusty men." 
That it was at first regarded as something of a mark of effeminacy 

Memoirs of Ike Sedan Chair. 405 

Emperor that their health would not permit them to ride on horse- 
back, and il was considered as an established point that it was un- 
becoming for them to ride like women.' 

There were in London allotted stations, such as at Temple Bar 
and Charing Cross, where the chaimien plied for hire at a guinea a 
week, eighteenpence an hour, or at a shilling a mile ; and Gay, in 
his " Trivia," says : — 

Al White's the hamess'd chninniin idly stands. 

And as il was in London, so in ancient Rome there were particular 
stands in the city called casira kclkariomm where the palanquin 
bearers (Ueliearii) grouped themselves while awaiting employment.'' 
These litters, or covered chairs, provided room inside for one 
person, or two facing each other. An arched roof gave protection 
from the weather, and windows of Spanish mica admitted the light. 
The bearers, arranged in single file, were from two to eight in 
number, and were trained to an even pace.' They must have been 
fairly lofty vehicles, for one of the most prominent actors in the 
conspiracy against the life of Nero, headed by Piso Epicharis by 
name, hanged herself to avoid further torture by placing her head in 
a noose formed by her girdle, which she suspended from the canopy 
of the sdla gisfatoria in which she was being conveyed for a 
renewal of her sufferings,* 

The London chairmen were a somewhat turbulent class of men, 
Irishmen generally, but often also Highlanders, especially in Edin- 
burgh and Bath, for whom the excuse might be made that they were 
often transplanted suddenly from their native country to an uncon- 
genial soil ; but they derived from the nature of their occupation a 
thickness of leg and strength of calf that became proverbial The 
chairs blocked the narrow thoroughfares, and in this respect pre- 
eminently they were always more or less a nuisance to that 
portion of the public who did not use them. In 1738 the grand 
jury for the City of London presented to the court then sitting at 
the Old Bailey, as a very great nuisance, the chairs set in the foot- 
way about the two Temple Gales in Fleet Street, where the chairmen 
plied for fares, " whereby the \Vay is so stopp'd, that People can't 
pass and repass about their lawful Business without great Danger of 
falling over their Poles, or of having their Pockets pick'd ; the 
stopping up the Footway, and Quarrelling of the Chairmen, drawing 

' See fmlhct Beckmnna's Hist, of Iwitnttens : Coaches, 

• Petct Vielorius, Dt Reg. Orb. Rom. iii. 49. 

• Tacitus, Annali (Iraiu. by Geo. D. Holbiook, M.A., 1882), bk. 
C ST. note. Bid. 

406 The GentUman^s Magasin*. 

to that Neighbourhood more Pick-pockety than is any other Part of 
London ; that the Quarrelling and Swearing of the Chainnen before 
the Doors of the Inhabiunts in that Neighbourhood, is not onlj a 
very great Annoyance and Disturbance to them, but it is a very bad 
Eminple to their Apprentices and Servants." ' 

Visiting and travelling in a sedan chair was, indeed, something 
more than powder, patches, and pleasure, and Cipriani paods, and 
hey ! for Spring Gardens : 

For the truculent bearers had their fiires entirely at their mercy, thor 
selection being guided far less with r^[ard to their moral dbancter 
than to their physical strength, " a lusty chairman " being an ex- 
pression frequently met with in the news-sheets of the time. A 
startling experience to those concerned must have been the foUoiring ; 
"Last Thursday, in the evening, the Lord Carteret, one of Hit 
Majesty's principal Secretaries of State " (he was the successor of Mr. 
Secretary Craggs in that ofEce), " passing through St James's Square 
in his Chair, was met by the Lord Harley's Lady in another : a Ks- 
pute happen 'd between the Footmen, about giving the way, which 
immediately turned to Blows ; and the Chairmen and Footmen being 
desperately engaged with their Poles and Plants, my Lord got out rf 
the chair, when one of the Lady's Footmen had the Insolence to 
assault his Lordship, for which he has been committed to Newgate 
and two of the others are bound over to the next Sessions : My 
Lord Harley came the next day to the Lord Carteret, to excuse the 
Accident and to return his Lordship Thanks for the care be took of 
his Lady during the Disorder." ' A relative of this Lord Carteret, 
Lady Louisa of that name, who married Lord Weymouth i 

Memoirs of the Sedan Chair. 407 

footmen alluded to in Lord Carteret's contretemps^ who were, as a 
class, distinct from the chairmen, was to carry links or wax 
flambeaux at dark, which were extingmshed at the link extinguishers, 
of which many examples still survive, affixed to the gates and 
entrances to houses in Berkeley Square and its neighbourhood, and 
in St James's. They were also carried by the running footmen, to 
whom an order was issued " to exercise care in canying them, and 
not to let the wax drop upon the King's coaches, which are observed 
to be much damaged by the same at the King's Mews, Charing 
Cross," 1 

A similar ^K^i^/if to the foregoing occurred in Dublin on the night 
of February 21, 1732, but of a far more serious character in point 
of bloodshed: "About Nine o'clock there happened, at the new 
Musick Hall in Crow Street, a great Quarrel between the Gentlemen's 
Servants, Chairmen, and Mobb ; the Soldiers, who were the Guard, 
could not quell them, but were repell'd, till reinforced from the Main 
Guard ; the Army used all iair Means possible to disperse them, but 
in vain, and were obliged to fire in their own Defence : It is said 
three of the Mobb were kill'd and about ten wounded ; a Chairman 
was shot through the Head, and now lies dead in Dirty Lane ; the 
Windows and Lamps of the Musick Hall are broke to pieces." ' 
Another serious riot, the sequel to a quarrel between two chairmen, 
occurred near the Haymarket one night in May 1720. On Wed- 
nesday night, about twelve, says the account, there was such a great 
riot in Windmill Street, near the Haymarket, that near a hundred 
gentlemen and others were all engaged at one time, some with 
swords and others with sticks and canes, wherein abundance were 
dangerously wounded. The watchmen that came to put an end to 
the affray were knocked down and barbarously used ; at last the 
patrol of Horse Guards came, and finding them obdurate rode 
through them, cutting all the way with their swords ; yet we hear£of 
none that were killed on the spot, though many, it is thought, cannot 
recover of their wounds. When they saw their own time they 
gave over, and upon summing up the matter the quarrel began'at 
first by two chairmen only.' But the chairmen, although so often 
concerned, were not invariably the cain-raisers in these tumults. 
On the evening of May 28 Captain Fitzgerald and three young men, 
his companions, met a lady in the Strand returning from St 

» Pall Mall Magaune^ Jan. 1895, p. 1 13, *• Concerning the Master of the 
Horse," by the Earl of Cork and Orrery. 

* London Evening Post ^ Feb. 26, 1732. 

* Weekly Journal^ May 21, 1720. 

4oS Tht GenHemoM's Magaein*. 

James's, conveyed in a sedan ch&ir. Thqr immediately eodeaTonred 
to force her out, but were opposed by the chainneo, upon which 
they drew their swords and |Hoceeded to demolish the vehicle. Hie 
noise brought a watchman to the spot, who instantly reoeiTed a 
deadly wound through the back, and as instandy expired. This 
mighty son of Mara was secured, but the others fled from their fool 
deed, like true cowards.' Parties of paid-off sailors, sometimes widi 
their pockets full of prize-money, used to roam the streets, and being 
more majomm " better with a fork than a take," theii purs&^trings 
were more often loosened in the Uvems than elsewhere, whence 
they sallied, " two " if not " three " sheets in the wind, resolved oo 
mischief. The desire of their hearts was quidcly realised on one 
occasion when they met with a party of chairmen equally inflamed 
with liquor. All had been drinking in honour of the election held 
in Covent Garden in March r763. After the sailors and chainnea 
had abused each other with the usual language of vulgar irritatioa 
a challenge was offered by one of the latter to fight the best sailor 
present This ended in the defeat of the Irishman, vho was 
instantly reinforced by his brethren, when a genual attack with pokers, 
tongs, fenders, &c. commenced on the sailors, who, supported by a 
party of unarmed soldiers, drove their antagonists from the field and 
immediately proceeded to demolish every chair they could find. 
These outrages continued till evening, and by that time a general 
muster of chairmen had taken pbce, who, exasperated to madness, 
beat down men, women, and children in their progress to the scene 
of action, where a dreadful conflict was prevented by a party of 
soldiers from the Savoy, by whose exertions some of the ringleaden 
were captured, but not before a soldier and a sailor and three other 
persons had been dangerously wounded, and the King's Head ale- 

Memoirs of the Sedan Chair. 409 

restored to liberty ; and the officer in whose custody she was, know- 
ing of the ill^ality of the arrest, complied. So far all was right ; 
but the plaintiff (a chairman), despising the law of nations, watched 
at the ambassador's door, and as soon as he obtained a glimpse of 
his debtor claimed her as his wi/e^ and under that claim compelled 
her to attend him to a public-house in the neighbourhood. Though 
the good lady strained every faculty in denying hb assumed rights, 
her clamour, of no avail with the chairman, reached the ears of her 
fellow servants, who, melted with her distress, sallied forth and man- 
fully released the captive from a number of the captor's brethren, 
whom he had wisely stationed at the public-house to assist him in 
his views. Thus defeated the creditor adopted a most certain 
method to carry his point He assembled his posse in front of the 
ambassador's house and began his operations by loud complaints, 
intended for the ears of those who passed, that the servants of his 
Excellency had forcibly seized on his wife and conveyed her for 
some very dreadful purpose into his mansion where she was detained 
to his inexpressible grief and terror. A hint of this description was 
sufficient in those days. In a twinkling a crowd collected, expressions 
of resentment at injustice and oppression flew from mouth to mouth, 
with the result that there was an immediate resolve to execute 
summary *' justice." A hundred voices demanded the woman ; a 
hundred arms were lifted at the same moment with hands grasping 
dirt and stones, which they hurled at the inoffensive window without 
effect. At this moment a cry to burst the door was accompanied by 
a successful effort, and in rushed the mob ; everything in the 
parlours that could be broken was demolished and used as weapons 
for forcing the besieged, now driven to the stairs-head of the first 
floor, where they appeared commanded by the ambassador and 
a gentleman armed with drawn sabres. Intimidated at the glances 
of the shining steel, the besiegers dared not ascend, but made a 
drawn battle of the affair. A cannonade of legs and arms of chairs 
and other articles of broken furniture succeeded, which no sooner 
reached the heads of those above than they were returned with 
additional velocity. Captain Woolaston of the Guards happened to 
pass through the square with a party of soldiers on his way to pro- 
tect the sufferers from a fire then raging in Eagle Street, and 
attracted by the shouts of the contending forces examined into the 
afiair, and soon dispersed the rioters, several of whom were after- 
wards apprehended by Justice Welch and committed to prison. 

The difficulties of "sitting bodkin" in a hansom are hardly 
greater sometimes than those which attended a fare of either sex, 
VOL. ccxcvii. NO. 2086. F F 

4IO Tkt GeiUUmads Magasint. 

givei] to tmbonfemt who attempted to negotiate a chair witboat 
calculating its capacity. A stoty told of an Irish chairman prcMnts 
their customary extortioD in a somewhat ludicrous lighL A certain 
Colonel Boden, who was extremely stout, on returning from the play 
one night hailed a chair. He was about to squeeze his portly penon 
into the necessarily narrow vehicle when a friend, just steppii^ into 
his chariot, called out, " Boden, I go by your door, and will set you 
down." Thereupon the latter gave the men the regulation shilling, 
and prepared to depart when one of the rascals scratched his head 
and hoped his honour would make it a little more than a shilling. 
" For what, you scoundrel, when I never got into your chair ? " said 
the Colonel. " Ves, your honour," said Pat, " but consider the 
fright you gave us I " The good and wondrous Catalani was usually 
conveyed in a " chair " from her lodgit^ to the stage-door of the 
Italian Opeia-house in the Haymarket. A writer Jn the " Family 
Friend "(the time alluded to must have been theopeia season of rSi4, 
when the great mniatrict renewed her connection with London after 
an absence of ten years] remembered the strong glare of the atten- 
dant flambeaux upon the bejewelled lady as she sat in her stately 
manner dressed for her part in the night's opera. When King 
Charles I. was taken to his trial in Westminster Hall he was borne 
through the narrow King Street in a sedan chair, while people came 
forth from stalls and workshops to lament and pray for him. He 
was taken from \Vhitehall to Cotton House, where he returned to 
sleep each day during the triaL After this the King returned to 
Whitehall ; but on the night before his execution he slept at St. 
James's. On January 30 he was " most barbarously murtbered at 
his own door, about two o'clock in the aftemoon."' The King 
appears not to have used the sedan on the fatal day, but to have 

Memoirs of the Sedan Chair. 411 

Walnut Tree " was the sign of John Browne, ** Chair and Cabinet 
Maker, on the East Side of St Paul's Churchyard, near the School, 
London." Here he sold '* Spring Curtains, And Blinds for Windows, 
or for Gentlemen's Coaches and Chariots of a new Invention, Conve- 
nient to keep the Sun off in Summer, or the cold Wind from coming 
in between the Sashes in Winter, and particularly necessary in Rooms 
up Stairs in narrow Streets, where the opposite Windows overlook each 
other ; being made so as to hang up when Company is present, or 
Persons are dressing, iac^ ^ **The Three Chairs " was in the seven- 
teenth century the sign of a famous tavern in the Piazza, Covent 
Garden, in a neighbourhood which was the Mayfair of the period, 
ere yet 

Ma]rfair has ceased to hold its fair in May 
And silent in Pall Mall 's the racket's sport. 

The curtains of the sedan chair seem to have been considered 
worthy of the thiefs attention : '' Last Monday Charlton Hill was 
committed to New-Prison by John Fielding, Esq., for stealing several 
Curtains out of a Sedan Chair." * The chairs themselves were hardly 
so costly as one would have thought Nell Gwynne's, for instance, 
cost no more than £1^ iix., and chair-hire, £1 us. 6d.* But it 
was not the fittings alone that were the object of felonious designs. 
The occupant himself was well worth the attention of the Alsatian : 
*' Last Wednesday Night a Chair, with a Gentleman in it, was stopp'd 
in Bloomsbury Square by two Footpads, who presented their Pistols, 
and the Gentleman readily gave them his Purse ; but not being 
omtented with that, they insisted on having his Sword and Watch ; 
and he gave them his Watch, but begg'd they would not insist on 
having his Sword ; on which they threw the Chairmen Half a Crown 
and made off."^ Among the household furniture of the Hon. Lady 
Elizabeth Wentworth, deceased, to be sold by the famous auctioneer 
Mr. Cock, was her ladyship's sedan chair, " lin'd with green Velvet, 
and other valuable Effects."* There was a sign of "The Two 
Chairmen, in Warder Street, Old Soho," next door to which lived 
a Mr. Bacot, who advertises "Two Guineas Reward for a Silver 
Watch, Name Tavemier, with Silver'Chain, Silver Seal, an Elephant, 
and a Steel Seal with cross Crosslets." • The sign of the " Two Chair- 

* Dai/f Advgrtiser, December 21, 1 741, where the sign is described as the 
<* Thru Chairs and Walnnt Tree," and the same journal of July 15, 1742, where it 
b the ** Thru Coveted Chairs and Walnut Tree." 
• WhUihall Evening Ffsf, July 1$, 1756. ' Bill among Exchequer Papers. 
< Whitehall Evening Pfst, May 29, 1756. * Daify Advertiser^ June 2, 1742. 

* iMtdm/eumalt May 26, 1722. 

412 Tke GeiUieman's Magagitu. 

men," of which I think there are four sumving instances in London, 
owes its origin, no doubt, to their bibulous propensities u a cUai, 
Their work was certainly of a somewhat aiduoiu nature, and it might be 
argued that they found liquid refreshment indispensable, for sometimes 
they travelled considerable distances. " Yesterday," nys the " Daily 
Advertiser" of February 16, 1742, "the Prince of Wales and the 
Duke of Saxe-Gotha went to Kew in an open Chair, and retum'd to 
Cailton House to Dinner." However, it does not seem quite certain 
that a sedan is meant here, but longer distances than this are 
recorded. Princess Amelia was carried by eight chairmen from 
Sl James's, London, to Bath between April ij and April ic^ 
1728. The chairmen were relieved in their turns, a coach and ux 
horses attending to carry the chairmen when not on service.' A 
sedan chair, to which wheels have been affixed, and known as the 
" push," is still used for visiting by residents in Hampton Court 
Palace. There was, if I remember right, an illustration of this in 
the " Antiquary " some time ago. As to the word " sedan," as 
applied to the " covered chair," Mr. G. L. Apperson in his interesting 
work, "Bygone London Life," says that there is practically nothing to 
prove any connection between the chair and the place. The authors 
of" Old and New London " seem to be in error in suting that hackney 
coaches " were at first often called ' hackney-chairs,' " In an Act of 
Parliament (9 Anne, c. 33, sect 8) the hackney-chairs, as being 
"carried," are expressly difTerentiated from the hackney coaches, 
which were "driven." A business card in the Banks Collection of 
Shop Bills appertains to a sedan-chair maker in Marylebone Street, 
St. James's. The date is 1780. Mr. W. B. Tegetmeier, writing in 
the " Queen " some comparatively few years ago, but I do not koow 
the date, stated that when, during part of his boyhood q>ent in the 

Memoirs of the Sedan Chair. 


blue great-coats, knee-breeches, and blue stockings. Mr. Tegetmeier 
recollected them quite well in the thirties, but doubted whether they 
extended into the fourth decade of the present century. 

In 1694 sedan chairs were first taxed by Act of Parliament,^ and 
by an Act of the ninth year of Queen Anne two hundred chairs were 
licensed at 10^. per annum,* and no person ¥ras obliged to pay for a 
hackney-chair more than the rate allowed by the Act for a hackney- 
coach driven two-third parts of the said distance.' By the said Act 
it was compulsory that every chair should have a distinct mark on 
each side, and altering such mark incurred a forfeiture of ^5, half 
to the informer and half to the King (sect 4). Nor was any person 
to carry for hire in a hackney-chair without licence, on pain of 40X. In 
the following year, the loth of Queen Anne, the chairs were 
increased in number to three hundred,^ and by the 12th of George I. 
to four hundred,^ on account of the great increase of buildings to the 
westward. By 7th George III. a chairman might take, for any distance 
not exceeding one mile, 12^. ; for any distance above one mile and 
not exceeding one mile and four furlongs, 15. 6^. ; for every further 
distance not exceeding four furlongs, 6^/. ; and by the hour i&/. for the 
first hour and (id, for every half-hour after.* In the ninth year of 
Queen Anne a chairman guilty of misbehaviour by demanding more 
than his fare, or giving abusive language, or otherwise behaving 
rudely, forfeited, on conviction on oath, not exceeding 205. to the 
poor, or was committed for seven days to Bridewell or some other 
house of correction,^ and in the seventh year of George III. the 
commissioners had power to revoke his license or inflict on him 
a penalty not exceeding ^^3 to the poor ; and on non-payment he 
was committed to hard labour in some house of correction for thirty 

^ 5 and 6 W. and M. c. 22. 
' 9 Anne, c 23, sect 8. 
* 12 Geo. I. c. 12. 
' 9 Anne, c. 23. 


* 9 Anne, c 23, sect 3. 

* 10 Anne, c 19, sect. 158. 

' 7 Geo. III. c. 44, sect. 13. 
' 7 Geo. III. c 44, sect 15. 

The GentUmatis Magaztne. 


Alnwick Castle MSS. 

I FIND mysdf the bai^y possessor of a (acsiinile repcoducdon ol 
the famous Bactmian MSS. which are a chief glot; Ot die 
library, at Alnwick Castle, of the Duke of NMtbutnberland. These 
have been carefully edited by Mr. Frank J. Burgoyne, the libiarian 
of the Lambeth Public Libraries, and are now isnied in a handsome 
and costly shape and in a strictly limited edition.' To idtolan the 
existence of these manuscripts has for some time been known ; sod 
James Spedding, the famous Baconian scholar, wbo had access to 
them, has reprinted a few of the pi^es as "A Confetence of 
Pleasure." The work is even now not very much more aooesmUe 
than are the original documents, and the treasures may be said to be 
rather saved from the risk of destruction than brought within general 
reach. To the risk in question they have all but succumbed. During a 
fire at Northumberland House in the eighteenth century the rarioos 
pages were scorched and in part consumed, the closii^ lines of each 
page having been destroyed. It is to students of Bacon Uiat the 
facsimile principally appeals, though its interest, as I purpose to show, 

Table Talk. 415 

Original Contents of the MSS. 

SUCH are the main features of the work now printed. An external 
page, still surviving and carefully reproduced, serves as an 
index of contents, shows that a portion only of the MSS. exists, 
and suggests that the portion destroyed or lost was of immeasurably 
greater interest than that which is preserved. This portion com- 
prised nine items in all, whereof I will dismiss five. One con- 
sisted of Asmund and Cornelia^ presumed to be a play, of which 
nothing whatever is known ; Shakespeare's Richard IL and 
Richard III. ; and The Isle of Dogs^ a play by Thomas Nashe. 
Concerning The Isle of Dogs we have little information. It was 
written in 1597, the presumable date of the copying of the MSS., and 
roused the anger of the Privy Council, who withdrew the licence from 
the theatre and imprisoned not only Nashe himself, but, as it 
appears, some of the actors. One or two references to it are found 
in writings of the time, and a portrait of its author in fetters is given 
in Harvey's THw^m^ng of Thomas Nashe. What was the nature of 
the *' very seditious and sclanderous matter " which, according to the 
minutes of the Privy Council for August 15, 1597, it contained, is 
now not likely to be discovered. It is in the two plays of Shake- 
speare that the main interest centres. That manuscript copies of 
two of Shakespeare's masterpieces were in existence and within reach, 
and were allowed to be lost, though it is scarcely surprising, strikes 
one with a feeling of dismay. I am not for one moment assuming 
that these were the originals. Evidence points the other way, since 
it seems certain that the surviving MSS., now reproduced, were due 
to a literary workshop or professional writers' establishment of a kind 
in which Bacon and his brother Anthony seem at one time to have 
been concerned. 

Features of the Index Page of the MSS. 

INNUMERABLE points of interest manifest themselves as I 
turn over again and again these curious and pregnant pages. 
Upon these and upon the history of the documents which were once 
in the hands of Bishop Percy, the editor of the famous Reliques^ and 
were brought to general knowledge in 1869 by Mr. John Bruce, a 
well-known antiquary commissioned by the Duke of Northumberland 
to report upon his literary treasures, it is forbidden me to speak. 
At one thing, however, I must glance. My reader must remember 
that the genuineness of these scripts has never been contested. No 
John Payne Collier had access to them to sophisticate the record 

4i6 The Gentleman's Magazine. 

The date is the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and the period, idmost to a 
certainty, antecedent to 1598. Such testimony ai they famish, dien 
is in its way not to be controverted. I have laJd already that the 
surviving MSS, are prebced by a title-page or index of contents. 
This has sufiered much from time and dust, and has been soribUed 
over in a manner equally curious and interesdi^. This page is twice 
reproduced, once in ancient and once in modera script The 
significance of much of the writing is not apparent At the botd, oa 
the left side (of the reader), is the name Nevill, together with the 
punning motto of that family, j\% Vik Velis. On the opposite mde 
is " Mr. Efrauncis Bacon of Tribute ; or, Giving what is dew." Maa 
the title of other works appears J^n " By Mr. fiiaunds Bacon of 
Grds Inn." The ^e is struck by a rimed Latin quatrain — 

Muliix «jinis iam tnuisactit 
Nulla fid CI est ia paclis 
Mell in ore Verba lactis 
ffell in Corde flraiu in factU — 

followed by the word honorificabilitudine, which, in a slightly altered 
shap^ is found in the Two Gentlttnen of Vervna. Coupled with and 
slightly preceding the titles of Shalcespeare's two historical plays comes 
" By Mr. firauncis William Shakespeare." The name of Shakespeare 
— sometimes abridged to Shak, Shakspe, Shakespe, &c, and some- 
times written in full, then appears several times, and once as "your 
William Shakespeare." 

I have neither capacity nor disposition to hunt on the scent thus 
supplied. I cannot doubt, however, that the work now reprinted, and 
this curious page in especial, with but a few of the features on wbidi 
I have dwelt, will be an object of close and persistent study, and will 
be fruitful of controversy. 



November 1904. 


By Mary S. Hancock. 

Chapter I. 

^' TT was the meanest thing in the world, to be sure," said Janet 
X Deans' mother to the greatest of her cronies, old Mrs. Johnson ; 
'* but, when all's said and done, our Janet's that plain " 

An expressive pause came, and the other woman nodded 

"Ay, she does not &vour you one bit," she murmured. "She 
is like her father's folk, thin and peaked-looking." 

Mrs. Deans got up and poked the fire. 

" All she's got from my side is her health," she asserted sternly. 
" She is strong, is our Janet That's her good point, and it is same- 
things as I tell her always." 

" Ay, health is a mercy, as I know well to my cost, being but 
an ailing body myself. Well, good-day to you, Mrs. Deans. I am 
sure I wish you well through this business, I make no doubt it 
bothers you a bit" 

But when she went away, Janet Deans' mother made no effort to 
bestir herself. 

" It was a mean thing to do," she repeated angrily. " III say it 
as oft as I like ; for, eh, I did wbh to see Janet settled before it 
came to my time for going." 

Words were, however, of no avail. The " mean thing " had been 
done, and Janet had to pay the penalty. 

" I doubt she's cut out for an old maid," said her mother, with 
a little groan. It was not at all what she had desired or hoped ; 
but she " could make no better of it," as she said ruefully over her 

vou ccxcvii. NO. 2087. Q Q 

4i8 The GeiUkwuitis Magiume. 

In due time Janet herseir appeared, and bcsan to pti^aie Oe 
tea ; her mother interposing wearisome v^ meamlule^ antQ Jinet 
became irritated. 

« Why erer are you sighing and ' gieetinV mother? " ihe adted 
testfly. "What ever is the matter?" 

« Matter enough 1 It's alot^ of Ted Willis, giri »" bat Janet 

held up her hand. 

■* Least said, soonest mended ; mother, remember O^X Ted^lMi 
pleased himseir, as was only natural ; and his wife is a pKt^ jonng 

" A poor weakly creature." 

But Janet was out of hearir^ for she had gone to fill the kettle 
from the ti^> in the back kitchen. 

" It is turd to bear one's own burden,* thoti^t die giri bitterly, 
"and have other folks^ grumblings thrown in as wdL" 

She knew that Ted ^^lis had deserted her in bvour of a more 
** taking " face, and her heart had been well-nigfa cnubed by die 
pain and the agony it had borne ; but she could endnie this bettec 
in silence, and she felt stronger when the subject was left in ttie 
background, without Mrs. Deans' sighs aitd groans to booL 

But it was difficult to repress Mrs. Deans. She be^n agsin the 
moment poor Janet reappeared with the kettl& 

" Ay, you can just go on toiling and moiling yon can I A 
foctory band you are, and a factory hand youll & to the end of the 
chapter. There's nowt else in store for the likes of you." 

Janet turned her face to the fire, and for a second « two it 
seemed to vie with it in colour ; but her vtuce was perfecdy Itead^ 
when she replied : 

" Oh, that* s all right No one can say as I'm afiaid <£ worit ; 

Lov€y the Conqueror. 419 

living. On the left were the hills whose strength and steadfastness 
acted like tonics to the girl's mental nature. She looked towards them 
now, her eyes full of unshed tears, her lips quivering. There was 
nothing but pain in her heart, pain, and a dull feelmg as if all the 
spring had gone out of her life. And down the road, half whistling, 
half singing, a boy's clear treble voice came ringing as he sang 
some words probably from an anthem he had been learning — 
^ I will Uft up mine eyes unto the hills — the hills— whence cometh, 
whence cometh — my help." The strain went on, the words, sweet, 
fresh, and pure, swelled out upon the air as the boy parsed on and 
went out (rf" sight It was like an answer to her cry; strength in 
time of weakness, help in time of need. 

Janet's mood passed from her somehow, and she turned back 
into the house. She washed up the tea-things and took her knitting, 
nerving herself to bear whatever misery her mother's want of percep- 
tion might compel her to endure. 

Mrs. Deans was one of those who liked to talk. She loved the 
sound of her own voice, and she liked to prolong this sort of con- 

"Where have they gone?" she questioned, knowing full well 
that for both of them " they " could only mean the erring Ted Willis 
and his new wife. Nor did Janet affect to misunderstand her. 

" They have gone to Stranton," she said quietly. 

" To Stranton, for a day or two ! Well ! And to think it might 
have been — it aught to have been j^^ ! Eh, girl ; I don't know how 
you can sit and bear it so still like." 

*' What can I do, mother ? Is it not wiser to be quiet ? " 

But this her mother would not allow. "He shall not never 
come nigh my house again, I promise you. Ill teach him some- 
thing," cried Mrs. Deans, her wrath getting uppermost now. " If 
you've no self-respect, I have." And she forgot that there was a 
finer " self-respect," which did not " wear its heart upon its sleeve," 
nor advertise its insults to those who had eyes to see. 

Janet sat and knitted hard, pmying for the night 

And the night came— and God knew the rest 

As a " foctory-hand " Janet had work enough by day. And for 
this she was thankful. 

In Mrs. Browning's words she might have said : 

Get leave to work 
In this world, *tis the best yoa get at alL 
For God in cursing gave us better gifb 
Hmh men in benedietioo, God says ** Sweat 


430 Th$ GenikmoH^s MtgOMiMe. 

Forfotalicarli'*! men ty " crow,* —d to we we crow a e d 
^Ay, gMhed liy tome tomcodng cWt of tied 
t^liidiaiftptwithmiecreCqviiig. Get ipoik, get iroik. 
Be sQie *dt better then wbfll yoo nock to get 

''It is wdl that I hare it Id go to^" ibe told hendC ''Woik 
hnrtfl no one, and it is a gnmd cooioier.* 

In her way the plain and homely giil ootdd be philoaophicaL 
She wasi moreover, a good woikwoman, and tfie Manager knew her 

Thanks to Mrs. Deans' tongue^ not a few peofde had heard of 
Ted Willis* conduct— the Manager amongst othersi thoi^ Im was 
not exactly sorry. 

**What is one man's loss is another's gun," he said teiendy. 
** I shall make her a forewoman at onoe^ for she is oaeftal to m^ and 
I do not mind how miattractive she is^ ibr looks coont for nothing 
in a place like ours. She's a nice^ pleasant-qioken yoong womai^ 
and she has a head upon her shoukters." 

So it came to pass that one gleam of pleasure shot athwart Janet's 
daikened sky, for she felt that the Manager tnisted her, and she 
knew that the '' Firm " api»eciated her labours. This piece of good 
fortune came most of^rtundy. It changed Mrs. Deans' tune at 
home. From moans and groans she passed to triumphant refoiciQg; 
and vehement crowing over Ted Willis. 

''Now hell see what he has lost," she croaked ; "now hell find 
out what others think of you— ay, and those others his betters, 

To Janet her glorying was perhaps worse than her moaning, for 
the girl had no wish to triumph over anybody. She felt consoled in 
a way by her jxeferment, for it diverted her thoughts^ but Aat was 
aU. And as for Ted Willis, he had passed out of her circle at once 
by his marriage. She did not want to think of him any more. 

And so the months of summer came and went Winter drew on. 
apace — and a terrible winter it was^ too^ with ice and snow galore. 
In a town like Minchester, ice and snow have no romance about 
them. They are solid CBu:ts, uncomfortable^ melancholy realities 
that bring in their train sickness, misery, hunge r p e rch ance even 

Janet lived in Harperley Street, Number 4 ; Ted Willis had com- 
menced his married life in Harperley Street, Number 51. It was a 
long street, and the two houses were for enough from each other. 
Houses were not, as a rule^ very easily found in the town. Thej 
were seldom empty, and new ones were not built with the pioinpti* 

Lwe^ the Conqueror. 421 

tude that kept pace with the increase of popxilation. Had houses 
been easier to obtain, Ted would not willingly have chosen this one^ 
for, though he did not dread Janet at all, he had a wholesome fear 
of her mother, and would have preferred to keep out of her way. 

Nevertheless, Number 51 being all he could find when he 
married, Harperiey Street had to contain the two households— greatly 
to Mrs. Deans' disgust 

She soon found, however, that what with her own espionage 
and by the thoughtfulness of those who wished to perpetuate strife, 
she could manage to keep an eye upon the sayings and doings at 
Number 51, and this was eminently agreeable to her. She seemed 
to find out everything that went on there, and insisted on retailing 
her nevrs to Janet, whether she liked it or not. 

" Ted Willis has gotten his hands fiiU with that feckless wife of 
his," she announced one day, a flood of pleasure on her &ce at the 
thought of trouble ''over yonder.** 

Janet, however, looked up wearily. She knew she was expected 
to make some reply. 

"Why?" she asked coldly. 

" Oh, she's ill already. I could have told him that her pink and 
white complexion meant mischief. It was none so natural, you see, 
and I knew full well that she would not wear J* 
" Who told you she was ill ? " 

" Why, everybody. The doctor goes repeatedly, and folks say ** 

But Janet had left the room, and the widow stayed her words and 
smiled meaningly. 

" Maybe hell be soon wanting wife Number Two," she thought, 
as she stirred the coals to a glow. " If it were any other body but 
our Janet — ^you can never answer for her, or tell which way shell be 
going ; she has that little self-respect No one kens what shell be 
doing now." 
Nor did they. 

Janet never stayed to disclose her plans. She put on her work- 
day cloak and hat, and slipped quietly out of the back-door, while 
her mother was staring out of the parlour-window to see the doctor's 
carriage pass. 

The coachman had just had the audacity to flick his whip at two 
playlul urchins who had thrown their c^>s at the high-spirited horse 
and nearly made him run away, and Mrs. Deans' wrath had risen 00 
the spot. 

" Such an impident young man as the doctor has for a. coach* 
man, I never did see I " she commented. "My word, what I could 

422 Tk« Gtnikmads Mifgann*. 

tdl his master I" The "Master" was ttfe in loaie one abeniboaM^ 
and Janet, to iriioin she had ooofided her opinkoi mi &r bom 
bearing; though Mrs. Deans did not ioqiect dils until teMime 
came and went, without bringing her da u g hter . 

Then Mis. Deans heffn to wonder. In the mecmriule Janet 
bad hurried akuig the badt-wajr, and round again to ttie famt la 
five minutes more she bad astonished Ted Willis \j knoddng at 
bis door. 

"It's never >«f, Janet, is it?" he aiked in amaiemenL 

« Ay, it's me. Is Ndlie really ill ? ■* 

He nodded silently. "What did this visit mean?" be adud 
himself ; then aloud he said gravely, " It^ a kind of a Judgment CO 
me, Janet, I warrant" 

She was going rafridly along the passage and made no reply; 
perhaps she had not even heard him. 

" I'm—I'm blessed ! " said Ted Willis, mblHng bis eyes atopsdly. 
"Whatever can have brought her, I wonder? It fair beats mc^ 
it do." 

The bouses were all built alike, so Janet knew at once where 
to find Nellie's room ; and after a quick tap she entered, going 
straight Up to the bed where lay the sick woman, vboae pale &ce 
moved restlessly upon the tumbled pllows. 

" Janet I " murmured the dred voice. " Is it — really— Janet ? " 

"Ay ; ifs me." 

"Why — what's iMought you?" There was wonder mingled irith 
incredulity in Nellie's tones. Janet bad certainly atattled ber, and 
a slight Bush mounted to the temples as Nellie gued at ber fislloc. 

" Whafs brought you— here ? " 

" You I " replied Janet pleasantly. " It's about ti 

Lave^ the Conqueror. 423 

about the room ; still more comfortable to enjoy the luxury of being 
cared for by her. 

Nellie closed her eyes and sighed. She had been very miserable 
before. But she could not understand Janet She watched her 
furtively, and racked her feeble brains for a motive. 

She had set herself to win Janet's "young man," and had 
succeeded. She had wrecked Janet's happiness, and probably 
her life. 

What did Janet mean by coming, and '' being good " to her ? 

" If anyone had served ^n^ as I served her^ I'd — I'd have hated 
that person," said Nellie under her breath. '' She might die, and 
welcome^ for all I'd care." 

When Janet had made the beef-tea for the night, and left it by 
the fire, she went home again. 

" I've my work in the mom's morn," she said to Nellie ; " so 
good-night to you. 111 be round to-morrow." 

''Coming every day — is she!" murmured Nellie, still lost in 
wonderment " Folks don't do things for nothing ^ 

In the night she caught Ted's hand in her burning ones. 

" Ted I " she cried hoarsely. •* Don't ye go and marry Janet 
when I'm gone. That's what she's after, I know. I couldn't make 
it out before, but now it's clear to me — she's looking after ^w." 

Ted's brow grew cloudy. 

'* Dinna get such notions into your head," he told her, not un- 
kindly. " Janet's a good-hearted soul all through ; she is thinking 
only of you." 

But Nellie would not be pacified. 

" Youll see," she cried tearfully. '• She'll try to get you back 
when I've gone. Say you'll never think of her, Ted ; 111 not be 
satisfied till you do." 

" Was there ever such a tormentor ? " said Ted slowly. '< Bless 
the girl! anyone, to hear you, would fancy Ted was some great 

«' So you are. There are hundreds of women as would jump at 

^Ay, scores would marry a stick in trousers," muttered Ted 
scornfully. ^ But Janet's not one of these." 

"Then — promise me 1 " 

Ted got little sleep. What with Janet's ''designs" and Nellte'ii 
coiogh, he scarcdy closed bis eyes, and when day came, he was 
almost worn out 

''If you look like that, XVL have to take a turn at night-nursing,*^ 

434 The GtntkmatCs Mapuime. 

■aid Janet when ahe saw him the next Aoning. "I fear jon har^ 
bad a bad night" 

The; were in the passage of the Eutoty, and the Manager paiirrl 
them near enough to overhear her words. He gwe ber a kindly 
nod and went on, leaving Ted feeling angry — he knew t»t m^, 
" He nodi as if he were a bit of a fritHd," be grumbled ; but Janet 
laughed as she replied : 

" Oh, he has done me one or two good turns. And I dare my hf 
thinks kindly of— us." 

There was a slight flush on her cheek as she spok^ but this Ted 
did not see. He only noted bow neat and becoming her dieia wa% 
and how pleasantly she smiled. Then she passed on to her port as 
forewoman, and he went into the engine^ed. Their tasks lay in 
different directions now. 

" I ain't going to make silly promises to Nellie," said Ted to 
himself, as he walked away. "I'm going to wait — and sm. 
Manager thinks a deal of her, and so did I — once. More fool 1 
now, to be sure." 

There was no unkindness intended to Nellie — none at all. It 
was just a little prudent forethought on his own account, he fe^ as 
he made this resolution to wait. 

"Janet's a well-thought-of woman, seemingly," he decided^ 
"and I wanrant she'll be putting by a canny bit, now she's fore- 
woman. A man might easily go further, and fare worse." 

Amid the whirr of the machinery these things kept, revolving 
through his brain. He was by no means un&itbful to Nellie — oo( 
at all. He would have scouted such a notion, and almost " feUed " 
the person who said so. But he was a man who wanted to "take 
Time by the forelock " ; and he came to the conclusion that there 

Love^ the Cangueror. 425 

It seemed to Janet that she had always pitied Nellie — ^first, as 
one unfitted for life and its battles ; and then as one for whom the 
struggle of Uuing was too great. 

To help her to do something — anjrthing — by way of aUeviating her 
sufferings, or fitting her to meet the Beyond — this was what Janet 
wanted. This alone. 

And yet Nellie's finite little soul worried and fretted for other 
reasons, which did not exist 

Chaptbr II. 

'* Janet, would you mind telling me what brought you here first 7 '* 

It was that same afternoon at dusk. Janet stood by the bed» 
her labours of love ended. 

The faint voice, the thin fingers catching at her arm, the quiver 
of the pale lips arrested her attention. She smiled down at Nellie, 
as one might smile at a sick child. 

"I came — because " Her own lips quivered suddenly, and 

bending she kissed Nellie. 

It was the first time she had done so, and both faces crimsoned 
slightly. " Because somewhere I read of a Love that forgives — as we 
forgive^ and I wanted so much to help you. That is all" 

Nellie's eyes never moved from Janet's face. This— if it were 
true — was beyond comprehension. 

'' And your mother ? " she asked, coming at once to more familiar 
ground. " What does your mother say 7 " 

Janet's lips framed themselves into a smile ; she knew that even 
poor, finite little Nellie could very easily tell what Mrs. Deans would 
be likely to say, and how much would be said. 

" Oh, my mother does not understand," she replied, trying to 
speak lightly and easily about the matter. 

Nellie's hands fell on the coverlet 

*< Neither do I, Janet ; I don't ' understand ' one bit — for, you 
know, you ought to have hated me." 

" Ought I, dear? I don't want to hate anyone, and I — I think I 
love you — poor little Nell i " 

Her hands smoothed the damp hair, and rested tenderly on the 
delicate brow. Nellie's eyes still followed her wistfully. \ 

'< Janet," she whispered painfully, ''when I am gone, don't let 
Ted— forget— me ! " 

Janet's start of surprise did not escape the keen glance. 

** I will do my best to help Ted, dear ;*-but 

436 Th* GsiUUman't Magatin*. 

"Janet, stoop down, I want to ny •omethu^" She itietched 
out her thin «rnu, and the tall girl bent ha head nntU her bee 
almost touched Nellie's lips. 

"Janet l''caiiie the quid^ panting murauir, **I shall not leal^ 
mind it so much — if——" 

" If wfuU, dear ? " 

Janet was surely dull this evening. 

" If yoo and — ht — make it up — between you." 

It was out now 1 Nellie's absorbing thought, her one idea of 
reparation for a great wron& her attempt at atonement. She would 
pve up — Ted ! Give him up — to Janet — the woman whom she had 

Her eyes burned, a bright spot rose on dthertjie^ Shelooked 
at Janet expectantly. 

But now was Janet's torn for amaxemenL She lifted her head in 
the air, and for an instant her fiice wore a colder eq>ression. 

"And did you think, you poor little thing, that tiiis was why I 
came? Oh, Nellie, Nellie 1 " 

There were tears in Janet's eyes, in Janet's nrice. Ndlie had 
hurt her cruelly. 

The frail hands caught her sleeve imploringly. 

"Janet — foi^ve me," she pleaded. 

" You measured me by yourself, NeU." And she drew herself 

Love^ the Conqueror. 427 

" Nellie ! " And Janet laughed a little unsteadily as though 
contending with divers emotions. " No, no, my Nellie," she went 
on more quietly, after a moment *' You must not say such things! 
But, believe me, I came to you because my own heart had been 
touched with a sense of Divine love, and my infinite littleness ; 
and I wanted to do something — to help same one. Now, do you 

Yes, Nellie understood ; but it was more than Ted Willis did, 
or Mrs. Deans either. Two revelations had come to Mrs. Deans in 
these later days — one was, first, that Janet was a " foolish " as well 
as a "plain body." And when she had "got over" this, there 
came the still more surfmsing discovery that even ''plain" peo^ 
have their value in some eyes. 

" To marry the Manager I " said Mrs. Deans, big with importance 
at the thought It was fiur beyond her wildest imaginings, and she 
almost held her breath at the idea» and went about, in the reflected 
grandeur, with her head so high that the neighbours b^fan to com* 
ment on her ''pride." 

"It have £ur turned Martha Deans' head, it have 1" they com- 
{damed somewhat bitterly. "Janet Deans has twice the sense of 
yon old body, bless you ; she gives herself no airs — she leaves those 
for her mother ! " 

The time to come will tax Mrs. Deans' comprehension still more 
fully, for she will learn why it is that so many rise up to call Janet 
" blessed," upon whom the shadow of her daughter £edls. 

Poor Ndl sleeps in the churchyard now, having gone on to learn 
the fuller mystery of that Higher Love, of iriiich Janet had taught 
her ttie beginning ; and Ted Willis has left to find work elsewhere ; 
but strong, true-hearted Janet remains a power in the land Hers 
is " a name to conjure by," and her influence is an abiding one fior 

" Who'd have thought our Janet had it in her ? " queries Mrs. 
Deans more and more as time rolls on, but Mr. Lennox taps 
himsdf significantly upon the shoulder as he retries : "I am the 
one to find out hiddcai treasure^ and in my wife I have one who is 
simply above rubies." 

And Mrs. Deans, vanquished, subdued, and astonished, can only 
say meekly, "Ay, haiiilsome is as handsome d^es^ and our Janetfa 
A lady— God bless her ! " There is no question of the "plain woman'' 

428 Tit GfmUmttfi JU^wnK. 


IN a recentbookofSbakeipeucui cridcum ("Shakeqwuc^ Stnj 
of his Life," by C Crdghton, M.D.: Gnnt Ridwtd^ 1904) b 
tbeny of Ppbdiui, and coiueqiKody more or len of dw whole plij 
of "Hamlet," it pcopoanded, whidi caoaed the wiita; a freipieo t 
reader, eren KHnewbii of a ttadent of " Hamkt," Btcfalfy «■ «d as 
ineta{dioricalIy, to " lit np." Dr. Qei^^toa, after tntljr lemaiknig 
that ** Opb^a ii a creatioii unlike any other in Shakeqwar^ 8*^De7 
of women, and unlike any oHier ttage heroine iriKMnMeter,'' pro- 
ceeds to electrify all, and doubtlendiocknKM:,loTen of "Hamlet" 
by the followii^ assertion, under whicb, indeed, it it not caay to rit 

"Avert our eyes as we may, and as all the commentaton have 
done, there is no doubt about tbe bet : Ophelia bad a niAap ; she 
bore a child, and Hamlet was not the &tber of it" 

All tbe numerous, complicated, and mudi ciitieiaed enbaasies 
and expeditions, which so greatly annoyed and perplexed tbe aool of 
Goethe that be would have cut than all out, and for irtKMe rctnni 
the action of the play must necessarily be ddayed, are needed, i^ 

Ophelia : A New Theory of her Character. 429 

when, Tieck having dared to state his heretical theory, an English- 
man challenged him to a duel. Indeed, the feeling on reading Dr. 
Creighton's statement for the first time is as if some person — some- 
one with undeniable reason to know what he was talking about — 
came boldly up to one and made a similar statement about one's 
sister. At first undoubtedly most people will want to hit Dr. Creighton 
in the eye ; and perhaps, if they read this article, they will want to 
hit its writer in the eye, too. 

But is there not, after all, a great deal of evidence in favour of 
such a theory of Ophelia ? And do not certain passages in the play, 
notably part of the Play scene, the "To a Nunnery go" scene, 
and even Ophelia's madness — explained, certainly, but never ade- 
quately explained — become at once far more intelligible when read 
in the light of this theory ? This will more clearly appear if one 
takes the trouble to compare some of the oldest extant copies of 
"Hamlet" in the British Museum with a good modem edition. 
Certainly the older, original versions of " Hamlet " lend, not perhaps 
very much, but still undoubtedly do tend, to bear out Dr. Creighton's 

The long intervals in the play, he thinks, cover a space of not 
less than seven months altogether. These long intervals, this 
despatching of embassies for an object sufficiently obscure to have 
been pronounced non existent, all these waits and delays are on 
account of Ophelia, " the central figure of the tragedy," to whom 
everything is subordinated. When the play opens, it is certainly 
summer, for in spite of "a nipping and an eager air," which bit 
shrewdly the men on watch on the battlements of Elsinore, the nights 
were very short ; and the ghost, who appears between midnight and 
one in the morning, soon thinks he scents the morning air, and it 
cannot be much after three when 

The glow-worm shows the matin to be near. 
And 'gios to pule hia ineRecIual fire. 

The mention of the glow-worm, Dr. Creighton thinks, means that 
the action begins not later than July. The Play scene, as is plain 
from Ophelia's words, is four months after Hamlet's father's death 
(iii. x), that is, a little over four months from the opening of the 
play. After this scene, Hamlet is sent to England and Ophelia 
disappears, to reappear after a long interval with her fennel, colum- 
bines, pansies, rosemary and rue — surely more late May or early 
June than April blossoms, as Dr. Creighton says. The willows h^ 
the brook which carried her to muddy death were in full leaf, and 


430 TAt Gtntlemaifs . MmgaMtm. 

ber fiutattk: gulRDds of cn)wfl<nKn(alctiidflf wiUpio^ Ibdievi^ 
nettles, daisies and long puiples (orchids) ue iko tordj nwie Uks 
Hay or June than April In this long intanl Ophdk^ cbOd had 
been born, had died, and been buried. That; at leas^ is the tfieai7. 
The &ct of Polooios attributing HamleA "*■'*■'*— to his love of 
Ophdiais, most leaden will probata agra^erideaceiadiB-aginHt 
than for Hamlet having caied vaj deq^ for C^ihelia. Poionlii% 
sa^ Dr. Creighton, was made to put people on a wtoog soenL 
True ; he was too hopdcssljr reqiectablB. One is tempted to aA 
one's sdf bow fu the niiole tngedjr came ^Kiot tibroog^ his meddle* 
someness, and how &r through Opbdia's weakness Opiidia ti 
certainly a most difficult chaiactei to read. How mttdi feeling, if 
any, is concealed behind her submisave, demure aoswen to bar 
bdier? "So please you, something touching tlie Lord Hamlet"— 
we can almost see the meek expression, tiie downcast eye% the fldtd. 
scarcely perceptible blush. " I do not know, my laid, what I aboold 
think." Does any other of Sbakespesie's heroinet answer so in ndl 
circumstances ? And when Laertes says to her : 

Foi Hamlet uxl the triBing of Mt fnmat. 
Hold it a bsbion and * toj In blood, 
A violet in the jonth of (nmy nftluie, 
Forward, not permanent, awcct. Dot lMtiB(b 
The perfmite and ntppliance €f a miiiiite. 
No more. 

and she replies, " No more but so 7 " is it calm indiSbrence or the 
impas»vity of crushir^, paralysing sorrow? Does any oUier of 
Shakespeare's heroines give faei lover away at the bidding of anytme^ 

But there is little of the meek, almost aggravatit^ly demore 

Ophelia: A New Theory of her Character. 431 

I loTed Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers 
Could not with all their quantity of love« 
Make up my sum. (V. i.) 

She was certainly not a strong character, yet is there evidence to 
show that even her father's death, of the true circumstances of which 
she had been kept in ignorance, and Hamlef s treatment of her, brutal 
as it was at times, were enough of themselves to cause her to lose 
her reason? The writer thinks certainly they were not It is 
merely one woman's judgment about another, but in spite of the 
proverbial uncharity of woman to woman, it can hardly be seriously 
denied that on some points a woman must of necessity be a better 
judge than a man. 

On the theory of Ophelia's maiden motherhood, however, her 
madness is far more easy to explain. Hamlet's desertion, her 
father's death and burial "in hugger-mugger," together with her own 
shame, and the loss of her child (which, if it is not straining certain of 
her snatches of song, she would have loved), all these troubles coming 
on her in battalions might have been sufficient to unhinge a mind 
£ar better balanced than Ophelia's. For merely physiological reasons, 
too, I think I am not wrong in saying that on this theory she would 
in every way have been far more likely to have lost her reason. 

The common theory, of course, is that her madness was due to 

her father's mysterious death, preying on a mind already crushed by 

disappointed love. Yet in her madness she never seems to think of 

Hamlet, although she does sing of '* your true love," a song which 

Dr. Creighton interprets as in no way referring to him. She does, 

however, seem to refer to her father, and, as Dr. Creighton points 

out, although his interpretation of certain passages is perhaps rather 

far-fetched, much of what she says is more applicable to a little child 

than to an old man. 

Larded with sweet flowers, 
Which bewept to the grave did go, 
With true-love showers. 

And if the old reading "did not go" (in the 1604 and 1625 
editions, for meddling with which Dr. Creighton is so angry with 
Pope) be really correct, the reference to an unwept because un- 
wanted child becomes still clearer. Certainly the extreme difficulty 
of reading Ophelia's character would be much lessened if, like most of 
Shakespeare's heroines, she had had some woman friend or attendant 
in whom she confided. She had none, and hence it is all the more 
likely that the accident Polonius and Laertes seem to have dreaded 
with Hamlet should have happened to a lonely, motherless gixlt in 

433 ^^ Gt nthm m f s M iig mnm. 

ttiemidrt ofaCourt lociety pnibBbly wiflfca e uUy iaaapL Tlioqgh 
tbe Queen was kind to ber, moamed ber doitb, and itmred flovcn 
on her gave, there is nothing to show tiM OpbeUa ever confided io 

DoubdeM in sudi drcnmstances she picfed upon hetsdT, opoa 
ber own vitality. Her very isolation daring ber long maotfis 
of waiting wonld tend to hdp her to lose ber reason. She had 
probably been persistently s u pp rew e d , and bad not been strong 
enough to rebd against sudi suppression. When Kamlet breab in 
upon her sewing, " she is as impertmbaUe as die ^Ainx : in the 
first qnatto be actually feet* her pulse to discover iriiether she is 
agitated or not She had a perfect recollection of Hamlets own 
agitation, and was able to tdate it to her bther with a mioateness 
which speaks volames for her presence of mind. Here we have 
one oT Shakespeare's master strokes, conect in art, trae to nature : 
she shows the self-^^introl of women in a marvdlons degtee, and 
then her mind snaps with the strain, so that she loses ber leason." 

Ophdia's secret, says her critic, ** is revealed by degrees and in 
four diBkrent ways : first, by the ghost to Hamlet in an unrecorded 
interview ; secondly, by Hamlet in three separate mnnendoes aimed 
at herself during the Flay scene ; thirdly, by her mad songs, arUesi 
talk, and language of Sowers ; and lastly, by the chnrlish priest at 
her funeral" 

Ophelia: A New Theory of her Character: 433 

between Hamlet and the ghost, his father's spirit told him the truth 
about Ophelia, but whether this is the tale which should " freeze 
thy young blood" is not clear. Unless Hamlet had cared very 
deeply for Ophelia, it would not have been so excessively shocking 
to him. On this theory it was immediately after the ghost's revela- 
tion, and while he could still only half believe it, that 

Lord Hamlet, with hU doublet all onbrac'd, 
No hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd, 
Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ankle, 
Pale as bis shirt ; bis knees knocking each other, 

came before Ophelia, took her by the wrist, and held her hard, as it 
were asking could this be true ? 

" Ophelia," says her critic, " was equal to the occasion ; she 
never winced . . . Neither of them spoke a word." Does her out- 
wardly impassive behaviour point to her guilt or not ? Let pyscho- 
logists decide. 

Be that as it may, on the supposition that Hamlet believed 
Ophelia to have been unchaste, many of his speeches to her, of 
which the writer at any rate could never get any satisfactory expla- 
nation, become, if not absolutely clear, at least much clearer. In 
the Play scene, for instance, for the grossness of which Shakespeare 
has been severely blamed, why, if he attributed to Ophelia anything 
short of unchastity, should Hamlet have absolutely insulted her ? 
Admitting the coarseness of the age, did it allow any man, let alone 
one of Hamlet's breeding, to speak such words, to make such 
suggestive allusions, not merely before but actually to a young girl ? 
That he thought her weak and faithless is not sufficient explanation 
of his insulting her. And in the scene (iii. i) where Hamlet meets 
Ophelia, apparently by chance, not really, when she begins, " My 
lord, I have remembrances of yours," why should Hamlet, supposed 
to be mad but with so much method in his madness, say, '' Ha, ha, 
are you honest ? " 

"My Lord?" Ophelia answers, tremblingly, we are sure, but 
whether from guilt or pained surprise who shall say? Dr. Creighton, 
strange to say, does not comment on this scene. Again : 

Ham, Are you honest? 

Oph, What means your lordship? 

Ham. That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit 
no discourse to your beauty." 

And again : 

"Get thee to a nunnery. Why would'st thou be a breeder of 

VOL. CCXCVIX. NO. 2087. H H 


434 ^'^ GentiemoM^s Moffume. 

siniiers? . . Get thee to a Dunaery, go ; brewdL Or, if thoa wilt 
needs marry, nurry a fool ; for wise men know wdl enoogb what 
mODsten you make of them. To a nunnery go, and quickly too." 

From Ophelia's answers nothing is clearer than that she thinks 
Hamlet's reason shaken ; and, as the writer wishes to bee all round 
the question, it must be admitted that, if Ophelia can answer Hamlet 
as she does, and yet be all the time conscious of a guilty secret such 
as is imputed to her, she must be a consummate dissembler. And if 
she felt the innuendoes in Hamlef s speech, would she, alone and left 
to herself, have spoken thus 7 

O, whai ft noUe mind ii here o'etthnwn ! 

The couitier^ Kddia'*, schoUi't, eye, tongue, swoid ; 

The expectant and nne of the baz ttUe, 

The gifts of ftibion >od the mould of form, 

The obaervcd of all otaetven, quite, quite down 1 

Had she carried a guilty secret nithin her, surely, alone and at 
such a time, she would have alluded to it. 

Yet why should Hamlet, not long after his silent meeting with 
Ophelia ia her closet, say suddenly to Polonius (iL a) : 

" Have you a daughter ? 

Pol. I have, my lord. 

ffam. Let her not walk i' the sun : conception is a blessinf^ but 

Ophelia: A New Theory of her Character. 435 

father, '* passing from the one to the other by those rapid and incon* 

sequent transitions of thought which are peculiar to the insane." 

In his interpretation of the song, " How should I your true love 

know ? " many may think Dr. Creighton strains his points, and he 

certainly conjectures much, and equally certainly makes out a very 

good case for himself. Undoubtedly, in Ophelia's mad talk, it is 

easy to trace a confusion of thought between an old man and an 

infant, as for instance : 

His beard as white as snow. 
All flaxen was his poU. 

" I cannot choose but weep to think they should lay him i' the 
cold ground.'' Does Ophelia refer to her father or her child ? Or 
to both ? 

<' If they ask you," says Dr. Creighton, *' what the story of the 
owl and the baker's daughter means, it is the sequel to a plain tale of 
seduction. . . . We owe the explanation of that to the excellent 
antiquary, Francis Douce, whose account of the l^end contains the 
relevant particular, although he has not made the application of it 
In Gloucestershire the country folk had a l^end that our Saviour 
entered a bakery and asked for a loaf. The baker's wife took a large 
piece of dough to place in the oven, but her thrifty daughter thought 
a small portion of it would be enough ; when, lo ! as if to rebuke 
her, the small piece of dough swelled in the baking to an enormous 
size. For her grudging spirit, our Saviour changed her into an owl, 
fluffy without and meagre within. Ophelia is elliptical in recalling 
the story by its conclusion only. ' Lord, we know what we are, but 
know not what we may be : ' we may change portentously from 
being * in the oven.' " 

All which also, though interesting, seems slightly far-fetched. 
However, it is only to certain of Dr. Creighton's criticisms that such a 
term can be applied. 

So, too, "the false steward that stole his master's daughter" 
seems one more sign of the trend Ophelia's thoughts were taking. 

Naturally it will be asked how could such trouble befall Ophelia, 
without the whole Court knowing ? Certainly no idea of anything of 
the kind ever occurred to Laertes, who speaks of his sister as " Dear 
maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia, 

O heavens I is't possible a young maid's wits 
Should be as mortal as an old man's life ? " 

But then, while she sang her song of seduction, Laertes was not 
present, only the King, the Queen, and Horatio, who may all have 

H H2 

pspc^vd — '^'*^. LjutiA, bad be lad aay i 
vwgtitj, vodd bardlj bsR said : 

Ba «bai Boolio txjs to die Qoeai dot Ophdia 

Tltf csB7mh^mK: fas ^erd » ■odaa^ 
Yd Qtt ihataJ Me o(k doA aote 
Tbe bcxm to caDcc&a ; AcrriaMii, 

A&J boCd ds VOC^ Dp fit to AcV OV9 tfaoi^Av 

does be trier to Opbdui's tronbling about ha btbet iulaied 
" in bagger-mtigger," or wu be afraid of her reraHng KMDeduDg 
dtt, hitherto concealed from all but a few 7 

Id the intopretation of the scene in which Ophdia distribates 
her fiowoa, Dr. Ctoghton, tbongh always in te es tin fr is periups 
more iodioed to ibain his points than dsewhoe. Of the daisy that 
she picks up, and gives to no one, he says that a bint of its s^nifi- 
cince is probably to be found b Green's " Quip for an Upstart 

" Next them grew the dissemblu^ daisie, to wain such ligbt-o'- 
lore wenches not to trust erety &lse promise that such amcBoas 
bachelors make them." 

Finally there is the scene in the graveyard, the ftmeial with such 
m^med rites : 

Thif doth bddieii 
Tlie cone [bey fellow did with despeimte butd 

Ophelia : A New Theory of her Character. 437 

" It is to be observed,'^ says Dr. Creighton, '' that the priest's 
complaint in both quartos is that she has been buried with the 
rites due to a chaste virgin. He was clearly of opinion that 
she was not chaste, and, as parish priest of £lsinore, he may have 
had means of knowing. . . . The priest does not distinguish clearly 
in his own mind between suicide and the loss of maidenhood. 
Probably in his parish experiences of young women found drowned, 
the two things were so commonly associated as to be inseparable in 
his thought.*' 

Much might be urged against this theory of Ophelia ; there is 
still more, it seems to me, to be said in its favour. At any rate, it 
surely cannot be denied that it throws a new light on many puzzling 
passages. The difficulty is to answer the question — Is there any 
case of a similar obscurity in Shakespeare, and if not, is it likely 
that there is this one and only instance ? 



71r ( 


J. acq 

rr^CTE^ ^ tx i^cd 31 ca^ a a-iijulinc Jin-nc, and a pobbi: 
£ccer "vsa cpcmnid. gsMimahiy by Lord ATiedbnL The dippei's 

"^' ■ ^xncnsv ^icn^s. la yc ^'- '*, ^3S f tti^^y cnpuyai dot ^**** of 
^^ir^Kiccia: i=d s 17^ zxl iwiff rfian rgo aires were jSeged to 

iaTf ti«= *^Bn-ri»ff Set -rrHimr .-Jf* ^lov h^rt*'' tfcat tfus *t^* " nfT t l 

VIS iL-trr.lI izd ahacni. ±0:1 ±e&c: ±aC,ao xxmerwascbesobject 
•J =e T3:»3 aJts: ^ bv 1 ■ '^\t\X, nan. Dr. Kor of NartfauDptoo, 

Willougkby Waterless. 439 

was not calculated to excite great expectations, except in the minds 
of sanguine speculators. The fact that a resemblance was found to 
Harrogate waters will account for the singular appellation of the 
village which at one time prevailed amongst the peasantry. Water- 
less the place can never have been, in a strict sense of the word, for 
plenty of fresh springs existed, besides the mineral ones. But in 
certain parts of the village a suggestion of Harrogate in taste and 
smell may well have rendered the pumps undesirable for domestic 

One of the devices for calling attention to Willoughby was the 
publication of its history. This was drawn up by Mr. Thomas 
Deacon,' a fully qualified person, who spared no pains in his re- 
searches, and was permitted to peruse the MSS. of the eminent 
antiquary. Sir W. Dugdale, by Mr. W. Hamper, in whose possession 
they then were. He pursued inquiries, too, in the British Museum 
and the Ashmolean Library, and had the great advantage of assistance 
from two men of recognised local knowledge in their day. Sharp of 
Coventry and Bloxam of Rugby. 

It is encouraging to the students of village lore, that the accident 
of an advertisement being required to ventilate a speculation should 
have ended in the discovery that an obscure parish had once been a 
place of some importance, though its record is not found in history. 
And several small items of information were elicited, not devoid of 
interest to the curious, and in their character not alien from the 
ancient spirit of this magazine. First then, with regard to the name 
Willoughby, Dugdale considered that it might be explained in this 
manner. "The last syllable (bye) in the old English, signified a 
village, as we use it in the same sense to this day, calling those orders 
which are made in a court baron bye-laws — id est the town laws — and 
Willough imports that divers of such trees did grow there." 

The worthy Deacon, however, is not quite satisfied vrith this 
etymology, and in view of the fact that Roman antiquities have been 
found in the neighbourhood, and that traces exist of an earthwork, 
apparently intended for fortification, within a furlong of the church, 
is inclined to think that Wilebere (a form of the name appearing in 
Domesday) may be interpreted Villabury. And he adds that the 
Saxon terminations of bury, burgh and borough are met with in 
connection with places of Roman origin, and thus used signify a 
fortification or wsdL 

With regard to the manor, certainty as to its possession can 

> History of Willoughby^ by Thomas Deacon. London, W. Clark, 6o Pater- 
noster Row 1828. 

j(o Tk* GetUUmuuis Maguine. 

wcxaij be ucerained tiH ihe year iicm^ «ben it is found in the 
hands of Heniy L, zsd that moaaich enfeoffed one \Vigzn, hii 
senanc, of twt^re ;anb at land (shich, at 48 acics to a yard, comes 
to 576 icTuI in what wu aHjtd/elU serjtaiUj, and for this land and 
othia' in the Tii:iiutT, Wi^n «as expected to sopfdy, at his proper 
costr 3. man in ham*-™ for the king's savic^ with two horsey in 
ereiy army of hiji vichia England and Wales. 

The manor remained in the W^an lamHy till the year 1233, when 
Thuittane Wlgan, the then possessor, granted the whole manor, with 
the advowson of the church, to the Hospital of Sl John witboot the 
Great Gate in Oxford, whidi Henry IIL was fbondii^ for the succour 
of the sick and suangeis. The master of die hospital hereafter called 
himself " de Wylehy," as being lonl of the manor, and in this capa- 
city be bought in or near the village some further plots of land. 
And there is a curious document extant, isstied by Edward I^ and 
dated January 3, 13S5, at Bristol, which seems to have been a 
license to hold certain lands and tenonents which the Master and 
Bmhien had bought, after the passing of the celebrated Statute of 
Mortmain. This law took effect from 1379, but the king, as a 
particuLir £tTt>ur (voieiUes gratiant fatert tpeeialcm), overlooked 
their neglect to obtain his permission, and sanctioned their retaining 
tbeir purchase. 

In 144;,' the collie of JkUgdalen at Oxford was founded by 
William Patten, sumamed Waynflete, Bishop of Winchester, and the 
site chosen was that of our Ho^ital of St. John. Building, however, 
in consequence of the troubled times, did not commence till 1473. 
There are a few remains of the ancient fabric In the south wall it 
is stated the " pilgrims' wicket " is still traceable. These pilgrims 
to the shrine of St, Frideswide were admitted to the Hospital as part 

WUUmghby Waterless. 441 

Henry VII. to the middle of the eighteenth century, the lessees had 
been members of the Clarke family ; and as residents of Willoughbyi 
at any rate, the same stock is found, under the name of Hamund, as 
early as the first of John, 1199. This family of Clarke branched 
into other counties and connected itself with local gentry of ancient 
lineage. To the direct Willoughby line belonged Sir John Clarke, 
Kt, who distinguished himself as a soldier in Henry VIII.'s time. 
He was present vnth the king at the Battle of the Spurs in 1513, and 
made a prisoner of Louis, Due de Longueville. For his behaviour 
on this occasion, he was allowed to carry the Fleur de Lis as a crest 
in addition to his own family bearings. This symbol is still to be 
seen on the porch of the south aisle in Willoughby church. Sir 
John is also reported to have introduced the orange tree from France, 
and grown it in his garden at the manor house. The date of the 
orange {Citrus Aurantium) is usually given as 1595, but if the 
Willoughby sioiy is correct. Sir John's orange must have been many 
years earlier. 

The church dedicated to St Nicholas is not considered, in its 
present form, to have been built before the latter part of the fif- 
teenth century ; the chancel, indeed, certainly, and the south aisle 
probably, were erected only in 1622 and of these, again, the 
chancel was rebuilt in 1779. Of six bells, the great one has an 
inscription, which, as such things are interesting, may be mentioned : 

My mournful sound doth warning give 
That here men cannot always live. 

There are several monuments in the church to the Clarke family, 
but there does not seem to be any memorial of Sir John Clarke, the 
soldier. There were, however, certain flat gravestones, the inscrip- 
tions on which have become obliterated. When Mr. Deacon wrote, 
the parish chest in the vestry contained an immense number of 
parchments, mostly leases and conveyances, but with some other 
documents, dating from the reign of Edward III. to recent times. 
In the list of vicars occurs the name of John Stokesley (Dugdale 
calls him Richard^ but his tomb in St Paul's Cathedral said John). 
He, it appears, held the living of Willoughby from 1505 to 152 1. 
After endless pluralities, he was made Bishop of London in 1530. 
He was a thick and thin supporter of Henry VIII. in his ecclesias- 
tical proceedings. He died in 1539, and was buried in the Chapd 
of St. George and Our Lady in Old St Paul's, afterwards destroyed 
by fire. There are two significant entries in the list One is that of 
a vicar named Thomas Gardiner, who in 1562 was difrioed of the 

443 Tk§ GmdkmmdM Ma gammg . 

living, doubtless bdng unwiDtiig to aooept the wp re ma cy <f QGeai 
Elizabeth as head of tfie Chmdi of Rnghikl. Hie other cohjii 
that of Gideon Hancodc, who was incaealcd bj die IHtsideul sad 
Schobrs of Magdalen, 15781 and picaeatcd over again in 1585 It 
the Queen. 

Amongst other bequests^ for the benefit dueflf of tlie poor of fiK 

parish, one contained the oomfition that a lamp dMNiId be kept 
burning in the church for ever. TUs waa dated in tiie twelfth of 
Henry VI., and the bunp burnt, preaomaUj, till the R e fa—ti ii ^ 
when it was blown out for good. 

There is every reason to suppose (as has been s a i d) tliatWilloiifiJhIir 
was aplace of more importance than its present condition wo ul d hri 
anyone tosuppose. The Master and Brethrenof the oMHoqiilalat 
(Mord had bmi a very few years in possession of Aeir manor, beioR 
they obtained a charter for a weddy maiket and an annual fiur, to hit 
two days. Not far from the chuxcfa stands a small handet (two or 
three houses), occupying the site of a large building, and called Ke 
Court This is believed to mark the place where one of the dd Fie 
Powder Courts existed. These wer^ apparently, summary trtbanah^ 
where disputes likely to arise in the transactions of die fiurs and 
markets were dealt with offhand. ^Pie Powder" is a anrrifal 
from the old French ^ieds pouUris^ in Latin pedes puloeriMtiM^ and 
the picturesque explanation of these terms is, according to Fni!E^ 
that " the complainant and the accused were supposed not to have 
shaken the dust from off their feef There is a field in the west of the 
village called the Gaol Close, and many years back, part of the founda- 
tions of the ancient fabric was discovered by labourers digging for 
gravel. In several of the fields surrounding Willoughby mounds are 
observed which are undoubtedly the remains of spacious manaoos ; 
and near one, in the midst of a plot of open ground, a fine apple 
tree stood, called the Bowling Apple, and tradition declares it to maik 
a bowling-green belonging to some member of the Clarke fiunily. 
If the manor house itself was that of the Rev. Andrew Mien^ wbo^ 
in 1 71 7, married the last of the \^lloughby Clarkes, it was pulled 
down about 1780. When Mr. Deacon wrote, old people could re- 
collect the building as having a most antique appearance. 

All these facts go to prove that there was once a place of some 
extent where the present village stands ; and it is curious that the 
belief in hidden treasure in some of the old heaps is firmly held (or 
was held in the last century) by the resident peasantry. Roman traoeSk 
in pavements, coins, implements, and the like, have been unearthed 
in the neighbouAood, but neidier in former times, nor in periods 

Willoughby Waterless. 443 

more Ming within our knowledge, can any historical associations be 
said to cluster round this unfrequented locality. 

The writer lived at Willoughby, as a boy, in the years 1835-37, 
and ventures lo add a few items from memory which may serve to 
illustrate his subject. The object of being there was education j 
and that was conducted by a clergyman of the name of Chambers, 
who was curate- in -charge, his superior being Dr. Nathaniel Bridges, 
D.D., a member of the Northamptonshire family which provided an 
historian for the county. This reverend gentleman had held the 
paiu^h since 1791, and was highly respected for his piety and elo- 
quence. Under the strange distribution of patronage then in vogue, 
the Doctor, who resided at Clifton, was Lecturer at St. Mary 

I RedclifTc, Bristol ; reaor of Hatton, near Warwick (where for many 
years the well-known Dr. Parr was his curate), and vicar of 

I Willoughby. 

I During the writer's residence the old man paid one visit to our 

village, and stayed with the curate, whose house, indeed, had been 
built by the vicar. To us he seemed antediluvian ; but boys are 
always on the lookout for fun, and this was supplied by the be- 
haviour of his valet — also quite old. This functionary was ex- 
ceedingly insolent ; but the immovable gravity of his face and the 
emotionless tones of his voice disarmed offence, as far as we could 

The toast at breakfast was grossly burned, and as the valet 
prepared it, the Vicar asked him what could have produced such a 
result The servant, pausing, with an upward look, as if reflecting, 
remarked, in the calmest manner, " I expect it was the^fire." 

Our house was the Doctor's property, and, situated on the 
I.ondon and Birmingham road, commanded a view of the constant 
traffic. There were twenty-four coaches passing and repassing 
every day, not to mention post-chaises and gentlemen's carriages 
and csris and waggons, including Pickford's vans. The coaching and 
posting business was at its very apogee in the middle 'thirties; 
every effort was made to increase speed ; the vehicles were neat and 
correct in all particulars, the horses excellent, and the coachmen 
first-rate drivers, while the postillions gloried in yellow or blue 
jackets. But on this road the coachmen were not the enormously 
fat men, in low-crowned hats with lai^e flat brims, as represented 
in the illustrations to Dickens's earlier works, but sporting- 
farm cr-looking individuals, well-dressed and respectable, if not 

1 exhibiting quite tlie " bang-up " air introduced by Hi. Stevenson on 

I the Brighton highway. Mr. Willcocks, of the "Wonder," hod the 

■b m 

444 ^^ GentUmaii$ MagaxtMe, 

aspect of k well-to-do innkeeper. There wis a small garden-tenace 
nmning abore the road, with a summer-house standing on it — a 
place from which the dnuna of life could be observed. It amused 
OS bo}rsto think that the coaches were, so to speak, moving sbelves fiiU 
of romances, if anyooe to read them to us could have been available. 
It seemed natural, if one aw<^ in the night, to lun to the 
window on the chance of a night coach ; only sliding lamps if it was 
dark, or a spcctnl vehicle in the moonl^ht Not much noise (cf 
perhaps our cars got liard of hearii^ from habit), but a subdued 
nimble, the chink of pole-chains, the beat Qi trotting horses, mixed 
into one moderate call on the attention, was all that is remembered. 
But, besides the vehicles, there were foot passengers <^ a most mis- 
cellaneous order. Private life relations to the amnsers and ohibt- 
tOTs who are dependent on the fiivour of the public, though those 
relations may be of the slendetest description, are always welcome 
to youths. The whole set who wept over the death ot Tigellius 
would have been our delight ; and, as it was^ to have exchanged 
from our terrace a few friendly words with a conjurer, a fire-eater, or 
a clown, was held a distinction to be long boasted of. 

By the middle 'thirties the idea of making a second Leamington 
of Willoughby had faded away. A small bath had been built, with 
some sort of apartment connected with it, on the public road, a 
short distance from our garden ; and a few invalids bad actually 
visited the place, and had found accommodation at the inn, or in the 
village. But the mineral waters had, perhaps, scarcely a suflSdently 
marked cliaracier to attract people to a rough life and rather descdate 
surroundings, in the pursuit of a doubtful remedy. At aatat dis- 
Unce^ however, from the village, and near the cross-road to Grand- 
borough, closer, also, to the river Learn, a more ambitious attempt 

Willoughby Waterless. 445 

Our fancy also dictated that we should decide that the designer was 
a single individual, whose plan we had reason to hope we had 
divined Our school-books had told us of cities in the desert still 
recognisable by a tower or by temple pillars ; travellers related their 
finding cities choked up by tropical jungle, nay, cities overwhelmed 
by the sea returned in dim glimpses, folk-lore said, when tides 
were low and waters clear. And in such cases the pathos was 
evoked by the recollection that in these localities men had worked 
and women had loved, and both in their due time had died and dis- 

But, to pass from great to small, to us the mounds and blocks 
in these Willoughby fields were full of an interest all their own. They 
were thoughts, not things. They recalled no human associations, 
except such as might attach to the solitary dreamer whose castle in 
Spain had been doomed to evanescence and fiiilure. 

The inn at Willoughby, standing near the spot where the village 
lane debouched into the highway, was a substantial two-storeyed 
building, with stables on one side and a garden at the back, and was 
called the Four Crosses. Many old inns have been called the Three 
Crosses, and, belonging to days when Biblical allusions were not 
uncommon on signs, referred of course to what took place on 
Calvary. The reason why our inn had an additional cross is thus 

It would appear that the celebrated Dean Swift was in the 
habit of using this tavern in his journeys to and from Ireland. 
The Dean's mother at one time resided in Leicestershire, and 
Willoughby would have been a suitable place at which to turn 
aside in her direction. It is related that on one occasion, 
arriving at the Crosses, he found the landlady out of temper; 
whether hampered by pressure of travellers or irritated by in- 
capacity on the part of her maids, cannot now be ascertained. 
But the Dean is said to have been ofifended by delay in serving 
up his dinner, and, sitting in the window, in a peevish mood, took 
off his diamond ring and wrote on a pane of the casement the 
following distich : — 

There are three Crosses at your door ; 
Hang up your wife, and youll count four. 

The lines bear the hall-mark of the satirist, and testify to their 
own authenticity. But, more than this, in 1837 the actual ancient 
diamond pane, of yellow and inferior glass, was carefully preserved 
by Mr. Crupper, the landlord, who was also a farmer and in good 

446 Tk* Geniltrnm^s 

I ' i iri i mttw T'''** Tbii gendcmu^ it it bdieve^ £d not Vatg ntns 
In p fff'M'" ct imikeqier; the tnffic of Ae load w mctMoed bj 
Oe CTrinrrino wbidt awaited i^ fix tfae nakwaf «ai pro ga wi n g 
npidly, uid, indeed, its opauDg vaa onlf retarded br the difficaltia 
wfaidi bad aiiten cna the tmuid at Kilsbjr, a ntfage aome t«o or 
three miles distanL And when Mr. Ctappa gave ^p tbe Oobk^ 
nnnour farther related that he sdd 0ie relic at tbe Dean. It is 
dcaibtlesa in some mnseom or private collection at tfie pRSent 

Tboe is no date that can be "vp *'4 to Ac incident sapplniK 
tbe anecdote ; hot Swift's hut ririt to ^tw^mt appeara to have ttften 
place in 1737, iriicn be was sixty yean old. His qwgiam, ttieieAM^ 
cannot hsTe been written on the window after that year, but m^ 
have been many yean earlier. 

The Deaneiy was bestowed in 1713. Local ttaditioD, the pane 
of ^as^ tbe conplet itad^ and tbe bet that the Three Oones 
became the Four Crosses (tboi^ no one knows wlien that cbai^ 
took place), aU comlune to offer better evidence in bvoor of the 
trath of the tale than can genoally be broogfat in suppott of a 
nanative of the kind. 

The "Gentleman's Magazine " for Norember 1819, amoi^pA 
accooats of the cmgins of signs, had a ballad on tbe Foot Croaaea 
at Willoi^by. But as this prodoction is not quite op to the nsna' 
calibre of oar venerable mother, a single stanza, by way of sample 
will perhaps be enough : 

111 Mid tbM Swift, St FUiiekS den— 

That old Mlbk ^nm— 

When oo hitjoaiMr to the Moith (?) 

Here topped uid took hit dinner. 

Wilhughby Waterless. 447 

Teeth and tusks of the mammoth had been found in the neighbour- 
hood ; and during the 'twenties a large tusk of the same extinct 
animal had been dug up in the Gaol Qose, and lay on a shelf in 
our schoolroom. Then we had the drama of the coaches — the 
moving show of human characters in their passengers; and the 
motley pedestrians of the footpath. And there was the chiteau 
which had mouldered to broken walls and rockwork, smothered in 
grass £md coarse flowers or clad in ivy owning no decay—and 
scattered in the solitary fields : both a dream and an awakening. 
And, lastly, we could gaze on the window-seat which no less a 
person had occupied than the author of '' Gulliver's Travels " and 
the creator of Lilliput and Brobdingnag, countries of whose history 
we never wearied. 


448 The GmUkmads Me^nkm. 


DOES the Queen of Scots stand cxmvicted of tbe munfercf her 
husband, and was she aware of the ooaqmacy to put UbId 
death ? Upon the answer to these questions hai^ the vqmtatkm of 
a woman who, d3ring more than three hundred yean ago^ yet fives k 
memory to be loved and pitiedi hated and scorned, moie dun aq 
other character in history. Her detractors assiign, as a motife fa 
her complicity, her desire to marry Bothwell, and with some diow of 
reason, since that was the accusation brought against her by Monf^ 
Lennox, and the whole conclave ; and on those lines, and tfaoae fines 
only, ran the so-called trial. A crime terrible enough to make aD 
Europe ring with the horror of it, even in those days; yet we itadof 
no universal horror Of the royal murderess, no geneni npheafil cf 
indignation ! Partisan writing there was, nothing more. Why? 
Because there was no real belief in it Current circamstanoes, tliieD 
fresh and well known, pointed to the real perpetrators of the aim^ 
men who hoped to profit by it, as indeed they did. 

If the Queen's position in her own country and in Europe 
generally is taken into consideration, it will be seen that the cmie 
was not difficult to accomplish by those whose object it was to get 
rid of Damley, and the obstacles in the way of fastening it on Maiy% 
shoulders were not insuperable ; though in the event that ta^ as 
they set about it, gave no small trouble, nor was it ever idio^f 
successful In France, Austria, and Spain, Mary was only reduxied 
as a card to be played in the political game ; to Elizabedi, she was 
a hated rival, both as a woman and a Sovereign : and not unnatural^ 
since as a woman she was deemed the most beautiful of her day, and 
as a Sovereign she was looked upon by many of Elizabeth's sabjeds 
as their Intimate ruler, and that alone was cause enough fa 
Elizabeth's hatred and endless plottmg. The Protestants of bodi 
countries eyed her with suspicion — she was regarded by the Pope 
as his one hope for the restoration of the Roman Chinch m 

Mary Stuart and the Murder at Ktrk o Field. 449 

England and Scotland ; for this cause the ministers of the Reformed 
Church of Scotland thought proper to hurl at her every possible 
insult, inciting the people against her, and even encouraging the idea 
of her removal. The men who should have been her support, the 
most influential of ber nobles, ncre weaving around her incessant 
intrigues for their own aggrandisement— money, lands, or vengeance, 
whichever came uppermost in their desires. 

In the year 1566, after Moray's rebellion, and after the pardon of 
himself and Lethington had been obtained, the combination of the 
nobles against Damley reached its height. He was powerless ; hts 
father Lennox was in disgrace and his following scattered ; the 
Douglases (kinsmen whom Damley had imbued with the deepest 
hatred) were at hand to take his life at the first opportunity, not alone 
for fear of him, but to avenfie themselves for the threat of Darnley's 
vengeance " if once his foo: was on their necks." Any husband of 
Mary Stuart at this time would have carried his hfe in his hand. 
Darnley had sown the seed for his destruction in a ripe soil and 
with a willing hand : his removal was a certainty. His one safety lay 
in the Queen. To separate them the lords had done their best, and, 
through Damlej-'s weakness, had partially succeeded. 

At this juncture a reconciliation was more to be dreaded than 
anything. Darnley, left alone in his vanity, haughtiness, and violent 
temper, would run his own head into the noose, hut if reconciled 
to his wife, and submitting to be guided by her, the Queen must be 
reckoned with, and that, though difficult, was not an overmastering 
obstacle, for her character was well known. One of Mary's latest 
and most talented historians says, " Mar; was of a nature so large 
and unsuspicious that on the strength of a ring and a promise she 
trusted herself to Eliiabeth, contrary to the advice of her staunchest 
adherents. She was no natural dissembler, and with dllficulty came 
to understand that others could be false," They had only to appear 
sincere, not a bard task for those who undcnook it. 

The work began with the offer of procuring a divorce from 
Damley, an offer that would appear in no ways remarkable to Maty. 
She knew, none belter, the almost insurmountable difficulties of 
government, and of maintaining any sort of peace among the endless 
factions, with I>arnley ever at her heels constantly stirring up strife 
with all and sundry- -in the council, in private feuds, in the household, 
anywhere and everywhere. For the country this state of af&uia wu 
hopeless ; peace ihcrv could be none. On these grounds a divorce was 
suggested to Mary at Craigmillar, November 15O6. The Queen 
refused the divorce, and it was then proposed that Darnley should be 

vol. ccxcvti. Ko. 10S7. I I 



4SO Ti$ G^niltmm/s, Jfi 

impe«cbedforl4|^tieitoii|iiiipriMii^ Maij** 

die conqnncy at everj point" ^ If Jftuy hated Dunlqr atdds 
(fixir months before die mmderX her acdont belied her hent 
nnneoemrily. Togiveoneuistanoeoiitof naiij. In Ae praoedbi 
Sqitember die Queen left Sdriug fior Edinbuigb, Mkii« Dnaky^D 
accompany her. He would not, but remained at Stnlimi vImb 
Lennox visited him. Twodaysafieithecaiiie to Edmbmihandsa 
arriving at Holyrood refused to enteri aa three or fiaur of tfaeJonii 
were in attendance. The Queen actually went out to hiao^ dwninl 
the lords, and, taking him by the hand, led turn to her roooni whoe 
he remained that night Next day she called a Coandlui order Hit 
he might state his grievances and, if possible^ have diem reoie&i 
The Council expressed themselves ^ ready to aobmit omadfes m 
anything reasonable ; and as for her Majesty, it waa '"i^ipyk't dat 
she should have given him cause for discontent, but oa die 0001419 
he had all the reason in the world to praise CSod far havii^ gjnca 
him a wife so wise and virtuous as she has shown heradf in aiher 
actions."* (This statement as to Mary's stainleia reputation- ms 
made and attested by all the members of the Privy Coancil, and ms 
not gainsaid by Damley then or at any time.) . The.Qoeen dM 
took his hand and besought him to declare whether she hadgifenliBB 
occasion for this resolution (he had threatened to leave die ommby)^ 
begging him '' to speak, and not to q[)are her.** * He would anncr 
nothing, but left Edinburgh in a fit of sulkiness, leaving a letter for 
Mary, in which he again hinted at leaving Scotland, complaiiiingtliit 
he had no r^al authority, and that the notdes avoided hhn. Dankr 
says no word of complaint to the Council of his wife's coldnen^ dl 
less of her infidelity towards him, nor does he mention it in his lettCL 
In his frequent intercourse with Du Croc he expressed the like 
grievance as before : '' He was not allowed the same share of poact 
as in the first days of his marriage " ; to which Du Croc answenA 
''He ought to be well content with the honour and good dieer she 
gave him, honouring him and treating him as the King her hwsbiH^ 
and supplying his household with all manner of good diiqgs." 

At this very time (September 1566) almost all the loids^ ta-' 
eluding Moray, had already signed a '' band " against Damley. The 
evidence of this comes from Randolph, Claude Nau, Archibsli 
Douglas, and Moray himself. In excuse for signing thia ''band,' 
Moray, in London, January 19, 1569, three years later, aaid..le 

' RqxNt of Spanish Ambssndor.—Lingud. 

* Letter of Lofds of Privy CoiiiiciL-*TcalcL 

* Do Croc to Catherine de 

Mary Stuart and the Murder at Kirk d Field. 45 1 

" was contrenit to make promis " (sign the " band ") " before I could 
be admitted to the Queen's presence or have any show of her 
faveur." ^ The ''band," according to his showing, was signed Octo- 
ber 25, 1566. Randolph, writing to Cecil six months earlier 
(April 25), says Moray was come to Court: ''I hear his credit 
shall be good" — "The Queen wills that all controversies shall be 
taken up." Even five days earlier (April 21), Moray had been 
received at the castle by the Queen. This lie, attempting to show 
Mary's desire for Damley's removal so great that she would not even 
receive Moray until he had promised to band himself against 
Damley, speaks for itself. 

To come back to the divorce conference, November 1566, two 
months after the signing of the '' band." So far as the good of the 
country was concerned, the suggestion was not lacking in reason and 
good sense, and if Mary wished to be rid of her husband, here was 
a door open, and one through which she could have passed scathe- 
less. If she desired another husband, why had she any scruple? 
She, divorced from Damley, could have been as surely married to 
Bothwell as Bothwell, divorced from his wife, could have been married 
to her. Yet, despite the persuasions of Huntly, Argyll, Bothwell, and 
Lethington, " she altogidder refusit, as is manifestlie knawin." * The 
Queen's own words, her wish that Damley should be " let be," that 
he had^been led by evil counsel and "peradventure he might change,"' 
are all too well known for repetition. It was said this tempting ofifer 
was put forward as an inducement for Mary to pardon Morton. It 
had not the desired result; the Queen neither recalled Morton at that 
time, nor would she be divorced, not even when urged by Bothwell, 
and with the promise from Lethington that Moray <* would look 
through his fingers," and a way would be found ''good and approved 
by Parliament" The answer was ever the same : " Ye, believing to 
do me a service, may possibly tum to my hurt and displeasure!^ 
Nothing was to be done "whereto any spot may be laid to my 
honour or conscience."* Conceivably, Mary*s conscience would 
suffer less after a murder ! 

Anent this divorce conference, Lennox, in his indictment, asserts 
that at Craigmillar the Queen and certain of her Council ^^had 
concluded upon an enterprise to the great peril and danger of his 
Majesty's person." ^ He gives three versions of this story, but they 
are entirely lacking in consistency ; and though he says he has been 
"credibly informed," he cites neither name nor authority for his 

> Bain, il 599-6oa ' Goodall, iL 359. • Anderson. 

« lUd. • Lennox MSS. 

: : 2 

452 Tk« Gtntleman*! Magaxtmg. 

statementt. As to what really occoired at Cnignullar, Maij on 
January 5, 1569 (then a prisoner in England), required a tne Mate- 
ment from Huntly and Argyll Huntly bad told Biihop Lesl^ the 
■tory of the conference, including all that pinfrt before the lonb 
were admitted to the Queen'a presence ; and Maty, writing apparenOy 
from Lesley*! report, sent her paper to Huntly and Argyll, asking 
them to revise, omit, or add to her paper as tbeir memories semd 
them, sign the document, and retura it to her to be used for Eur 
defence. ' Unfortunately for Mary, neither Huntly nor Argyll ever 
saw the paper ; it was intercepted, and now proves Marjr's fearks- 
ness for the actual truth of the transaction being known. At York 
and Westminster, Moray and others averred that they offered to 
procure a divorce, to induce the Queen to pardon Morton. Tlie 
pardon was not obtained then, or by them, but by Bedford, acting 
as ambassador for Elizabeth at the christening of the child prioo^ 
December 17, 1566. Not only Morton was pardoned, but many other 
outlaws. Sixteen years later Archibald Douglas, writing to Maiyi 
says, " I returned to Stirling "(at the time.of the christening), "when at 
the request of the most Christian King and the Queen's Majestf 
of England, by their ambassadors present, your Majesty's gradous 
pardon was granted to them all." Bedford, writing to Cecil, Decem- 
ber 1566, says, "The Earl of Morton having now obtained bis dress" 
(redress), " doth think himself much beholden unto you for yow 
favour and good will therein," Thus Mary, unable to resist die 
combination of England and France, and the oft-repeated petitiooi 
of her own subjects, in evil hour consented to a general amnesty, 
and let loose about her a set of ruffians, thirsting for her husbands 
blood, and plotting to shield themselves by making her aiq>eat as 
the criminal, at their head a fitting leader, Morton. 

Mary Stuart and the Murder al Kirk o' Field. 453 

might have aroused Mary's suspicions ; thai she was ill, and tniscrable 
in private, we find from Du Croc. In a letter to Beaton he says the 
Queen had sent for him, and that he " found her in bed and weeping 
sore," adding, " I am much grieved at the many troubles and 
vexations she meets with." If Mary desired Darnley's removal she 
had small cause to weep, for he was playing her hand to perfectiotr. 
Not content with alienating himself fi^im her and rousing the nobles 
to a pitch of revengeful fury, he was full of such crazy projects as 
the capture of Scarborough or the Scilly Isles, and was in frequent 
communication with the Catholics of the north-west of England, a 
sufficient cause in itself for Elizabeth and her Councillors to allow 
the conspiracy for his murder to take its course, if not to aid and abet 
it 1 It is worthy of note that Drury, writing to Cecil from Berwick 
after the murder, remarks that " the King was long of dying," a detail 
which he could only have learnt from one of the murdereta. This 
communication was not made till after the arrival of Moray at Ber- 
wick, April 14, 1 567. The mmour of some plot against Mary was 
known by Archbishop Beaton in Paris at the end of the year 1566- 
He wrote to warn her, but the warning came too late, February rS, 
1567. Damley had been dead nine days. On December 34, after 
the christening, Damley left Stirling and rode to Glasgow to his 
father. Three reasons may be given for this move on his part : the 
afiront given him by EliMbeth through Bedford, his knowledge of 
the report of his evil projects by Hiegate, or the fact that Morton and 
the Riz/io murderers had been pardoned. As he, though a party to 
that murder, had betrayed them, his fear of them was well grounded. 
The story of his being poisoned at Sliding, and that he fell ill directly 
he left ihe town, is exploded by the I-ennnx MSS., no mention being 
made of such an occunence, which would have been eagerly seiced 
upon. The date of his illness is given as a few days after his arrival 
at Glasgow. Lennox states ihat the Queen did not write to Dtrnley 
until January 14, when she excused herself and offered to visit him, 
which letter he answered with an insulting verbal message. This 
implies that Mary wrote only once and Damley not at all— only 
•ending her an angry message. This agrees but ill with the evidence 
of Lennox's own man, Crawford. Mary arrived at Glasgow to visit 
Damley, Januaiy 13, 1567. In Crawford's deposition we read of an 
interview between them — *' She asked him of his ktlers" and further 
Ihat Mary '* will not accept of my " (Damley's) "offers of repentance," 
meaning she had not in their correspondence accepted his offers of 
repotlUKe. The deposition, as is nhown later, was probably genuine. 
It docs not incriminate the Queen until Crawford adds his own 


454 ^^ Cknikmmis 

reSectioiis ; aiid dieie mq^ Iran Itfne boen gBMi^ 
WIS ooooeniedi sinoe his opiniom wmld tnkic odIomi fioB Lbmoi^ 
or tbey might have been added kter (ankDOwn to Qmrfbri) to 
bolster up the case agnnst the Qoeen. Ck m wi b sdwe not aloaei 
to g^ verbal evidence. Immediatdtf after so taider mi 
as described in the de p o si t io n , Damlqr was not likelj to 
that he misdoubted his wilie^ but would go with her "eiailhofdc 
weie to cut his throat* In Buchanan and ** The Book of Aitids' 
we are told that Maiy ''woidd not snflbr ao nnich at a phfaciB 
to come at him." Bedford, in a letter to Ceci^ Janoaiy % i^ 
says, ""The King is now at Gla%ow with his fiuher, and tee 
lyeth full of the small pockes^ to whom the Qoeen hath sent kr 

On January 27, Mary left Glaigow with Damky, he in a Etta 
she had provided for his OHnfort Proceeding by easy olagab Acf 
arrived at Edinburgh and the fiUal Kiik 0^ Kdd on January $x DH 
Mary know of the conspiraqr, or did she not ? It has been asKrtrf 
that, whether she wrote the Casket Letters or not^ she most hate bem 
aware of a plot against Daroky ; even one of her most takoled 
ddienders comes to the conclusion that she was ''not entiiel^munnR 
of the measures which were being taken" for the reouival of Dsnlq^ 
and ''though she did not sanction the enterprise she fiuled fimi^SBil 
promptly to forbid its execution." Her knowkdge is of ooone hssfil 
on the divorce conference, which ''altogether her Majesty refifled^ 
as is manifestly known." It may be argued that, though she refosoi 
to have anything to do with it, she was willing that others sfaonid 
accomplish the divorce, or adopt any other method to rid her of 
Damley, she tacitly consenting. Against that theory stand her 
own words: "I pray^^" (thelordsX "rather let the matter beinths 
state it is, abiding till God puts remedy thereto ; that ye belienqgto 
do me a service, may possibly turn to my hurt — and disfdeasom*^ 
" She n^;atived the conspiracy at every point" • 

That was in November 1566. On January 18 or 19 she was agua 
approached on the subject by Bothwell and Lethington, aocompanied 
by Archibald Douglas, sent by Morton, who refused to conspire nnhtt 
he had " the Queen's hand write to me of that matter for a wanant' 
He affirmed that Bothwell persuaded him to take part, " because ft 
was the Queen's mind to have it done," and on the fiice of tbit 
declares that the meeting was broken off because he could not obtais 
the warrant fiom the Queen. No one had this desirable wanad^ 
and Bothwell and Lethington were sent to procure it The 
> Andcuoo. * Report of ^aaiifa Asu h i tw dof, 


Mary Stuart and tJU Murder at Kirk d Field. 455 

tiiey received from Mary was, *'Schaw to the Earl Morton that the 
Queen will have no speech of the matter appointed to him." Except 
from Lennox, whose reports are confused, inconsistent, and without 
authority, there is no evidence to show that the conspirators 
approached Mary between November and January. As in November 
she entirely refused to have Damley interfered with in any way, 
warning them also of her displeasure if they did not desist, it is 
reasonable to suppose that she concluded the controversy at an end ; 
and whatever her suspicions might have been as to Damley's safety 
we have no evidence (Lennox's excepted) that any hint of murder was 
so much as whispered in the Queen's presence. Morton says that 
Bothwell told him it was the ''Queen's mind": her answer belies 
the statement The particular warrant which he desired, and which 
he says he never had from the Queen, was presumably to arrest 
Damley for treason or remove him from the country. In modem 
phraseology the words ''Show to the Earl Morton that the Queen 
will have no speech of the matter appointed to him," may have one 
of two meanings, either " Tell Earl Morton the Queen will not have 
such a thing even spoken of," or, "Tell Earl Morton the Queen will 
not speak of or be drawn into the matter." If Mary spoke in the 
latter sense, her goodwill towards Archibald Douglas, obtained after 
a letter written by him to her in 1583, is a mystery. He reminds 
Mary of his visit to her, with Bothwell and Lethington, in January 
1567, anent the warrant desired by Morton, and repeats her answer' 
that she would have "no speech " of it. In order to obtain favour, 
which he did, he would not have reminded her of an equivocal 
remark of hers, for which she was, and had been, suffering sixteen 
years ! On the other hand, a reminder of her innocence was sweet 
enough in bitter captivity to win Archibald's pardon. If in the 
Queen's answer we read innocence, it also shows indignation at being 
again questioned on a subject which she had before so decidedly 

Exception may be taken as to Mary being unaware of the in- 
tended murder, in that in the lords' offer of divorce or to convict 
of treason, or that Damley " should leave the realm," ^ the words 
occur "or in what other ways to dispeche him," which she "alto- 
gidder refused." Now, " to dispatch " has two meanings : to " put to 
death " or to " send away." Following the suggestion that I^unley 
"should leave the realm," it is clear that the words were used 
to give to the Queen the sense of " what other ways to send him 
away." If Mary winked at murder, why did she do her utmost 

I Anderson. 

456 TAt Gtmiimmft 

to lotore her vk^ to beilth in Cliiffwr, hv4bk JABJ^MLtefiVK 
bandii Mnfng him ber own ph yifcfai i- ; h « aHfrndf. iM^.r— uijl 
(Xdv to etcort him to £dinboi|^ to be mndcnd? .If Mny ay 
dened Daniley^ dotfi, ooe .cumot bat reflect on die Asoli^tai 
eondnct of ber phyricim I 

Why did the faring him to Knk c^ F!dd7 l>"-"tft Diia% 
after Oawfotd'a niggettiom, icTiued to go to CnigaaOlai; WIm 
Mary bad told bim they woold go to CiaigarMllai; he hadnpfiid 
"be would gpe with her where ihe pldaed." Omwltir^ on llw pM 
of LeuMO, in ioapiriiig Damley with M a p idom aa to bit bpag 
tatoi to CnugmiUar, had kindled tieth qiatki of diacouleDt jn Ha 
mind. Lenoox, in Us frantic amlntian fisr hia aon to be jo^ nte 
with Mai7, and to gun that end indting Dunl^ to rcaent aaf 
ihadow of authority from hia wife as Queen, drove him to Knfc of 
FIdd as sorely as his murdeien led him to bia deadk. To AoM 
lAo have been fortunate enou^ to qwnd a few hourm in die now 
pntiaDy mined outle of CaigmiUar, the dioice of ancb a 0att fa 
an invalid will be understood. If snnabine there bc^ ihea iaAs 
caide bathed in its glow ; shdtaed from bleak wind% not too li^ 
to be cold not too low to be damp, a more dieerfnl spot would ba 
hard to find within easy readi of Edinbu^i. 

Kirk o* fidd was recommended by Moray "aa a {daoe hJ^Uy 
dtnate, in good air, environed with plosant g^jd^m, arid remand 
ftom the noise of the people." ^ For once Moray ^oke the Initht 
die place was all he said of it Further, be reminded the Qneen that 
■* Loid Brothwick, irtiose life had been despdied o^ bad r eao m i^. 
hii hedth in consequence of rending there." * Once mpee Hd, 
Daniley play into the hands of bis enemies, and allowed Tin m mi 
Mary — to sdect the bouse to whidi he should go. , « 

Mary Stuart and the Murder at Kirk d Field. 457 

As to Mary's conduct towards her husband during those last 
days at Kirk o* Field, we cannot do better than cite ENamle/s own 
fedings as expressed in a letter to his father three days before his 
death* ^ My Lord, I have thought good to write to you by this 
bearer, of my good health, I thank God which b the sooner come 
thro' the good treatment of such as hath this good while concealed 
their goodwill ; I mean my love, the Queen, which I assure you 
hath all this while^ and yet doth use herself like a natural and loving 
wife. I hope yet that God will lighten our hearts with joy that have 
been so long time afflicted with trouble. As I in this letter do 
write unto your Lordship, so I trust this bearer can satisfy you the 
like. Thus thanking Almighty God of our good hap, I commend 
your Lordship into His protection. From Edin : the vii day of 
February — ^Your loving and obedient son, Henry Rex." * This 
letter was written partly in the Queen's presence ; Damley handed it 
to her to read, she read it and kissed him — "as Judas did the Lord 
and Master " is explained by Lennox, for obvious reasons. We do 
not hear that the '' bearer's " report differed from the letter, or gave 
a hint of danger in any sense. The testimony of Nelson, Damley's 
servant, as to Mary causing Damley's bed to be removed the night 
before the murder, and a meaner one substituted, is a distinct false- 
hood, fabricated to prove complicity on the part of the Queen. As 
neither he nor Crawford was allowed to make verbal depositions, 
each being provided with his story written down for him, to the 
truth of which they swore, and in the absence of Mary's Commissioners, 
it is possible that Nelson was not so great a perjurer as he appears. 
The bed blown up in the explosion was one which had belonged to 
Mary of Guise, given by Mary to her husband in the preceding 
autumn. It was a costly bed, draped with '^ violet brown velvet " * 
" passemented " with gold and silver. '^ In February 1567, the said 
bed was tint (lost) in his (Damley's) lodgings."* 

Mary twice slept at Kirk o' Field, probably on February 5 
and 7. On the night of the 7th she is supposed to have written 
one of the Casket Letters on the following incident On this day, 
February 7, Lord Robert Stuart warned Damley that there was a 
plot against his life. Damley immediately told this to Mary ; she 
sent for \xxA Robert to come back and explain himself : he denied 
having wamed Damley, whereat Damley told him he lied, a fierce 
altercation ensued, both half drew their daggers, and the Queen, 
terrified, called Moray in to part them.^' Had the Queen 

■ Jicmiooi MSS. * Royal Watdrobe tnvcDtoriet. 

' Ibid. • Lennox, Buchanan. 


458 The Gentkmanis Mi^!»m0. 


fr6m calling Moray to the rescae, mudi gnnpovdar in^ht hife lite 
saved. Damley, weak from recent illnetti coidd htve beett » 
match for Stuart, and his death mig^t have been cOBipaweJ wUk 
the greatest ease. Truly, Mary never made tbe most of te* 
opportunities ! 

This occurrence probably hurried cm the deed tf dattiie i a itt 
avoid judicial inquiry. If we accept the statement of IkMlu ii lBi 
servant Powrie, the gunpowder was put in die honie two dqw aMr 
(February 9). On the &tal night the Queen remained with Dinkf 
later than usual, and, on bidding him good-nigjhl^ drew a ^goedl^ 
ring " from her finger and placed it on his.^ CSemaid^ tiie ReBA 
envoy, says if she had not made apromise to attend the bridal of eoe 
of her gentlemen (Sebastian^ '*it is believed she would haie 
stayed with him till 12 or i o'clock, seeing the good miderrtaDdbig* 
and union " existing between them. Lennox asserts that the eaoM 
given for not staying the night was that BothweU and others » *pw!lfH|ff 
Mary of an early ride to Seton, which she intended to take^ and lliift 
Damley was '< minded to ride at the same hour." Bodi teMOOS 
are equally natural ; but as Sebastian was married that n|g^ ani' 
Mary was there, the former is the more credible. 

In order to prove the Queen's knowledge of the intended miBdai^ 
a statement of Nau's is quoted, viz. that as she left Kirk oP Rdl 
on the night of the explosion she said to Paris, ^* Jesu, Par» I how 
begrimed you are ! "or, according to Blackwood, Mary asked '*Whf 
Paris smelled so of gunpowder ? " Assuredly this is strange evidenoe 
wherewith to support the theory that to Mary the secret was an opea 
one ! Is the Queen then an arrant fool as well as a consummate 
knave ? If she noticed a smell of gunpowder about Paris or that he 
was '' begrimed," would she, if in the least aware of the plot, or aMi 
any desire that it should be uninterruptedly carried out, have giveD 
away the whole scheme by calling the attention of all those about her to 
the state of Paris's clothes ? The incident may be true, and Maij, if 
innocent, might well have made the remark ; but if the depositioos of* 
Paris have one iota of truth in them, he could have had neither grins 
nor gunpowder about him, since he avers that Bothwell bade 1^ gs 
to the Queen's room in Kirk o' Field on this Sunday night, *< andiriiQl 
Bowton, Sala, and Ormiston shall have entered and done what ihejrwait ' 
to do" (lay the powder), "you are to leave the room and come intotfii 
King's room, and then go where you like " — ** the rest can' do widioMt" 
you." In his first deposition he makes mention of gdng to Dandqft' 
room] accompanied by Bothwell, where Argyll silently gave hun • 

1 Iitniiox. 

Mary Stuart and the Murder at Kirk o' Field. 459 

dig in the ribs. Are we to suppose that Paris carried his gunpowder- 
berimed person into the presence of the intended victim ? 

To enter into the many and conflicting stories of the murder 
would be out of place, for they do not actually bear upon Mary's 
itmocence or the reverse. Suffice it to say the deed was done in the 
small hours of Monday morning, February 10, 1567. In the first 
contemporary narratives of the crime the Queen is not implicated^ 
but when her accusers (some of them the actual accomplices, and 
nearly all accessory) came to give or hear evidence, the conspiracy 
was gradually narrowed down to Bothwell and the Queen, they (the 
accusers) selecting or omitting items as best served their turn. The 
depositions of Paris are seized upon as fatal to Mary's cause. His 
so-called confession " was never used so long as Moray, Lethington^ 
and Morton were working together for Mary's destruction. It was 
taken August 9 and 10, 1569,^ and not seen by the English Com- 
missioner till October of the same year. By this time Moray and 
Lethington had quarrelled. Paris had implicated Lethington, and 
Moray used this witness against him. On August 9, Paris implicated 
Moray, Bothwell, Huntly, Morton, Lethington, and Lindsay, but said 
no word of the Queen, ending, " And that is all I know about the 
matter." Next day he was reminded by torture that he must refresh 
his memory and incriminate the Queen. He then remembered 
carrying a letter from Mary to Bothwell in January 1567 (according 
to official dates this statement is false, as will be seen later), also that 
he told the Queen of the intended murder, an item he later 
on contradicted by the statement that Mary asked him ^ aloud" 
about the missing keys of her room at Kirk o' Field; if he had told 
her of the gunpowder plot she would know why he had the keys, and 
would not openly have questioned him as to their whereabouts. 
Finally he states that he carried a letter from Mary bidding Bothwell 
send Lord Robert Stuart to Damle/s room on the Saturday evening. 
By that time the incident to which this alludes was over ; it occurred 
on Saturday morning. On the scaffold ** Paris took God to record 
that this murder was by your " (the lords') " council, invention, and 
drift committed," dechuring that " he never knew the Queen to be 
participant or ware thereof." ' These depositions were not published 
at the time ; they were withheld (by Cecil) when asked for by Wilson 
(who was writing up the case against the Queen) ; and as to who heard 
them made, history is silent. 

A favourite argument against Mary is that she made no effort to 
avenge her husband. A Council was held on the matter of the 

> Bain, il 698. ' Lesley. 

46o TJU GMibmmlis JMyuAgg 

«■-"* •. 

,. I.. 


muder tome few ImiiBtfterDiinlley^dettli. Ost of acobmBi 

bering fouiteeiit eiglbt wcfe ttthef ncMiHplwfe ■ Of flooomHi ■■! 
or lesi, three doobtfnl, and three only kqial iitaide of tte Qm 
— iffaL Lord LiidngtSoiie^ Ledejt BUiop of Kon^ md Zttd IlHilif 
—men who certainlj would netcr im wf l^gfp hOTe at al a CNfr 
dl composed diiefly of murderoa. ItdioaldbefeilMnbendAitfll 
unta after the abdoctioQ bj Bodiwdl weve the names of the ■» 
derers knowiii and then only in the fonn of nimoiir* The pnHt 
knowledge of their names comes from the l%bt of eUaot ctideHi 
as to the prooeedmgs against Maiy, kno«r1ed!ge at that tfane 
made pabHc Possibly the Queen cast doabt on Ae «oald-bt( 
trivers of the divorce^ members of her Privy CoonciL To 
them meant to accuse of murder at one USk swoop €0^ Fkwf 
CouncOlorSi including among them Moray, the Jnstioe Gentod of 
Scotland, the commander of the whole military finoe^ the S e u e f f 
of States and the Chief Justice Clerk ! Had she done so die 
not have been allowed to live another day. Bodiwell was 
to trial two months hter by Mary's de^re^ thoqg^ with only Ihi 
denunciation of an anonymous placard as proof of his goBl^ andt ai 
is now known, with all his confederates at his back. Of cosneli 
was acquitted. Lennox at the last moment oompfauned dmt lie 
trial was not dehyed. On February 26 he had written to the QneM 
uiging her to expedite matters, saying that ** it ought to be ifloniedMlf 
pursued with all dilligence and expedition." ^ His letter was raid 
at the trial On the night after the trial ^'Auadie's Btad'wsi 
signed by eight earls and eleven barons^ peers of Parliament ia 
which they bound themselves to defend Bothwell and advance hh 
marriage with the Queen. If Mary was a consenting pi^'^f «hit 
need of this *' band,** and why should the signers have a ftei w aidi 
implored her pardon for signing the same? 

The Queen's abduction by Bothwell took place April ^^^tjftf, 
Lethington was carried a prisoner with the Queen to Dunbei; V 
he, the most subtle and far-seeing man of his time, was unsnspecdqi^ 
Mary might reasonably be ignorant of the plot to carry her off Oi 
the other hand, as Lethington hated Bothwell, only pretending fiiend* 
ship at this time, it is much more likely that he was the man ftkftff j 
to lead Mary into the trap. Marriage with Bothwell was ruin to the 
Queen, and equal ruin to Bothwell. We have seen that no fewer 
than nineteen earls and barons signed the ''band" urging BothMl 
to marry the Queen. M<»ay was not in Scotland when tlie **bsiid" 
was signed by the others ; but on an existing copy of the sfgnstois^ 

* Keith, AndcnoQ. 

Mary Stuart and the Murder at Kirk o' Field. 461 

written by John Read for Cecil, stands Moray's name t Possibly 
Moiay only " looked through his fingers " and did not sign ; but the 
fiurt that his name appears in the copy goes £u: to show that at the 
time his complicity was pre-supposed, and there is nothing to show 
duit Cecil raised any question on the subject Is it conceivable to 
suppose that these nineteen lords (even excluding Moray) sen* 
ously intended Bothwell to rule over them as the husband of the 
Queen ? No sooner was Mary in Bothwell's power than Lethington 
(an apparent prisoner) set afoot the confederation of the nobles 
against him, including, of course, the very men who had signed the 
band to defend him and advance his marriage. In a day Bothwell's 
sworn friends cared not a rush what became of him ! A few weeks 
later these men rose in arms, stating as their reason the rescue of 
the Queen, representing her as Bothwell's helpless captive, and 
denouncing him as a murderer and ravbher. At Carberry Hill, 
their first victory, no attempt was made to captiu^ Bothwell (he was 
a ruined man and useless), while the Queen within twenty-four hours 
was carried a prisoner to Loch Leven. The excuse given for this 
movement was that Mary would not abandon Bothwell ; yet at the first 
o{q[>ortunity she left him, to put herself in their hands. Away firom 
Scylla into Charybdis she must have suspected she was going — 
apparently even Charybdis was preferable. 

Later it was found that an excuse must be made for the obvious 
contradiction of words and deeds. Until this juncture the Queen 
bad not been officially implicated — ^this must be done. The Casket 
Letters were "discovered" June 20, 1567, and the Queen is a mur* 
deress and adulteress! At Westminster, December 1568, Morton 
told the story of the discovery. He was dining with Lethington in 
Edinburgh Castle on June 19, when "a certain man" informed him 
that Hepburn, Dalgleish (Bothwell's valet), and John Cockbum had 
entered the castle. Morton sent Archibald Douglas to seize the 
men. Dalgleish was caught in Potter's Row, but only charters of 
Bothwell's lands were found on him; next day he was put to torture, 
when he asked leave to go to Potter's Row, where he revealed the 
casket The following day the letters were inspected, and given into 
his (Morton's) keeping in the presence of eleven witnesses. These 
witnesses were never examined ; two of them, Sanquhar and Tulli- 
bardine, were evidently not impressed by the contents of the casket, 
since they afterwards took oath to deliver the Queen firom Loch 
Leven. As the casket was taken from the castle^ it had been in the 
castle ; so had Lethington and James Balfour, the Governor, and 
there is nothing to prove that they had not seen and tampered with 

"■■ I 

462 TJU GmUktmmis 

its content! before June si. Three yems kMr (1570X bodi Gal 
and Randolph suspected dist Leduqgtoo had dooeaoi Oneaorili 
after the ''discomy'* Gnlj ai^ the locds awund EGsabedi te 
Mary was foiced to become Bodmeini wife ''hy fear and oier 
onlawftd means " ! The eaiBest refe renoe to any m aJBi ii MHin httg 
is July IS, 1567, by De Siha, Spanish Ambuaador In London. TKi 
letter, though quoted by Monty and T^ennonf, ms aftcnmds i^ 
pressed. The Casket Letters were not pradnoedtili December 15A 
Though during the year 1567 tfie hxds had published lln o n ^P < 
Europe rumours of Mary's disaeditabk letters^ pabGdy they apUi 

The letters were said to have been ahcnm, «a we hate seenb* 
December ; the event took place at a Ftolismeiit in Kdinhoiilbi 
Mary, still a prisoner, demanded to be heard, and of "her iiee vil* 
submit to all the rigour of the law.^ The letten were denqaiwrf 
by the Queen's party. At York the letters were not shown in Jn^ 
but in October the copies, in Scots, by Jolm Wood (Moof^ 
secretary) were shown. Elizabeth, having aeen extracts fiom ta^ 
removed the Commission to Westminster, ordering Noifelk Id pM 
Mary to understand that her restoration woold be arranged. Of Ae 
English commissioners who saw these copieSi Norfolk espoosed Msi|% 
cause (weakly, from fear of ElizabethX while Westmorland' sad 
Northumberland, after seeing the arigiftab at Westminater, took sp 
arms in her defence. Before John Wood's copies were shoa^ 
Moray asked that these Scots copies may first (to use his own wosdi^ 
*< be considered of the judges that shall have the examination," sad 
if the Scots copies agreed with the French originals^ would this be 
considered as sufficient evidence, viz. of the crime with ifrtiich tii^ 
charged the Queen ? If the French originals were genuine^ wiiy ok 
Scots copies ? Before playing their last card— viz. the Caaket Lettos 
— their determination to make sure of an adverse judgment on Mny 
is obvious, and in no ways convincing of much faith in the streqgdi of 
their evidence. The dishonesty of the transaction needs no com* 

At Westminster, December 6, 1568, Moray produced as evidenee 
of the Queen's guilt "The Book of Articles *" and the Act of Pailia- 
ment of December 1567. On the 7th he hoped the English 
missioners were satisfied ; they were not, and, at last, the casket 
brought forth, and Morton told the characteristic story of its diaoovciy. 
The letters will be considered in sequence. 

Letter I. seems ratbertb be a sequel to Letter II than the rdrene. 

« Nstt, pp. 7I-73- 

Mary Stuart and the Murder <U Kirk o' Field. 465 

It deals with Mary's hatred for Damley, and may have been given 
priority as a proof of her desire for the murder, as spoken of in Letter 
II. It was not stated that either letter was copied in French from a 
French original, though the originals were said to have been in 
French. If we accept the dates given by the lords — Lennox's and 
those in Cecil's journal, the only official dates — both letters are 
forgeries. According to these, Mary left Edinburgh for Glasgow 
on Tuesday, January 21, and arrived at Glasgow, January 23. Letter 
II. could not by its own evidence have been concluded till late on 
Mary's second night in Glasgow, January 24, and could not have 
reached Bothwell in Edinburgh the day before he started for Liddes- 
dale, as Paris, the alleged bearer, stated. Bothwell left Edinburgh 
on the 24th, hours before the letter was finished in Glasfgow. 
Letter I. is dated "From Glasgow this Saturday morning," viz. 
January 25, according to which date Letter II. was still unfinished 
by the 25th. The alternative dates, which if correct would make 
the despatch of the letters just possible, are from two private diaries, 
" Birrel's " and the " Diurnal of Occurrents." ITie former is not a 
daily record, and has only twenty-four entries for 1567, differing 
from the " Diurnal " in seven cases out of twenty-four between the 
dates August 1561 and June 1567 — all important and well-known 
occurrences. Both diaries give January 20 as the day of Mary's 
departtire for Glasgow. Drury, writing from Berwick, gives it as 
the 22nd, a day later than the official date. The diaries would not 
usually be regarded as reliable records. 

Letter II., as it stands and as it was shown to the Commissioners, 
is the most incriminating of the series. It may, in part, be authentic, 
for though in places it coincides, almost word for word, with Craw- 
ford's deposition both may be genuine. It is not improbable that 
both were written from memory, and on the same night. On the 
other hand, the letter might have been written partly /rom Crawford's 
deposition or Crawford supplied with evidence from the letter : in 
that case either the letter was a forgery or the deposition a perjury. 
To take the other possibility, if the Queen wrote a diary letter of 
her interview with Damley, and Crawford, for Lennox, also took 
notes of all Damley told him of the conversation, each writing on 
the same night, the words would naturally be more or less the same 
and the substance identical On the supposition that Mary's account 
of the interview is authentic, Bothwell, as her lover, is the last person 
to whom she would have written a recital of Damley's love and fidth, 
and of her own promise '* on the faith of her body ** to love him as 
her husband, nor if guilty of bis intended murder would she have 

464 Tk$ GmUkmad^ M^mmmk -"^ V' -^ 

written it at aH. b it credible diet uqr woniu^h^mmm nfcMj 

would ddibemtdy, mU for m wmmm^ ai|witi i ta on tfae faie nl 

tendemen of her ndiiii to the man who was her lover and aeoow 

pUoe? Moreofer, the coWJooded cmdty hi ifwwmdng P— fcf; 

love-paMig^ is siiigiilaily out of keqiiqg with the htftar part of fle 

letter, depicting as it does a hciroMtrickeo conac i em 

abject fear, a combination scaiod^ p oasi b l e ia one kttcr 

continuoady by one person. From qnoCadoiia fiem 

letter before alladed to^ it had mndi fai common wfth the oee 

under consideration. IfanoiiginalaoooQiit of diefaiteivisw, 

by Mary» was found and used as endenoe of her goOl at a 

and adulteressi it would seem diat tfie maik wu o?er-aleppedt asi 

that part of Letter IL was more likely to prove innoeence on ho* 


Letter IIL was said to refer to theplotfbr Dandef^asBBSsioBliBa 
by Lord Robert StuarL To understand it in that sense is imposrihi^ 
unless the alleged fects are read into it, and die names ssppori* 
titiously supplied. The date pven is two^days before die marieb 
The style of writing is stilted and afiected, unlike any known kMer 
of the Queen's. If forged, it was {mbably done at e diiennl dd( 
and not by the writer of the odier letters. 

Letter IV. conoerps the dismissal of a maid whom sooieBBB 
dislikes. The tone is that of great affiDcdon and desiie to pie 
pleasure to the recipient It proves nothing against the Queens and 
as evidence was useless. Possibly it b an original letter from Mey 
to Damley. 

Letter V. is intended to prove complicity in the abductioi^ and 
reference is made to the *^Ainslie Band." A warrant for die 
** band ^ signed by the Queen was shown at York, and thrown oot 
as too obvious a forgery. 

Letter VI. deals with the ''gude will '^ of the lords towaidi 
Bothwell, and has much in common with the letter written tf 
Lethington, as Secretary of State, to the Bish(^ of DunUane 
the marriage with BothwelL 

Letter VII. is in Scots ; no French or English copy is 
It contains an unfortunate mistake. Huntly is mentioned as ** 
brother-in-law that was^ As Bothwell was not divorced till aficf 
the letter could have been written, Huntly was still his brodiesija* 

Letter VIII. was not shown at Westminster. If it 
original letter, the allusions to a private marriage could not 
j Bothwell but would to Damley, nor are the contents consbtent wM 

Mary Stuart and the Murder at Kirk d Field. 465 

any elsewhere stated circumstances of Mary's relations with Both- 

Of the sonnels, numbering eleven, if they are authentic and 
written lo Boihwelt, they and two letters were written in two days, 
April 21 and 12. A remarkable literary effort — 160 lines of sonnet 
and two long letters, written, in stress of ill-health, travel, endless 
business, and unequalled anxiety, in forty-eight hours ! Brant6me 
and Ronsard, poets who had both seen and read many verses 
of Mary's, some hastily written and unpolished, discredited these 
sonnets with the remark that they were " too rude and unpolished 
to be bers," and entirely unlike any verses which they knew as 
authentic. As the tone of the letters and sonnets agrees, the phrases 
being often identical, one would be led to the conclusion that the 
sonneis were composed from the letters or the converse. The lines, 
"Enlre ses mains et en son plein pouvoir je metz mon filz, mon 
honneur, et ma vie," are in strange contradiction to facts. Maiy 
certainly never put her son into Bolhwell's hands, or into anybody's 
keeping but that of Lord Mar, to whom she had entnisted him. The 
writer of the letters and sonnets is the passionate lover of the person 
addressed — a man of whom the writer is jealous, a man who is cold 
and indifferent, a breaker of promises, always negligent, suspicious, 
and having a preference for another woman. If the recipient was 
BO cold and indifferent, constantly being pursued, even caring more 
for someone else, and the writer so ardent and devoted, it is some- 
what contrary to human nature for the former to keep the letters, 
while the devoted lover apparently destroyed the replies, which must 
have been ihe most treasured missives ! — a show of caution little 
in keeping with Kirkcaldy's information that Mary had openly said 
" she would go with him " (Bothwell) " to the world's end in a white 
petticoat rather than lose him." No letter, no token of love from 
Bolhwel! to Mary was ever produced, and none has been found to 
this day. 

Some few out of the many inconsistencies in the letters and 
sonnets have been noticed. Had it been possible to prove un- 
doubtedly that Letter I. was authentic, therein was sufficient proof of 
complicity in the murder and lawless love ; but it was of course seen 
that with that sole evidence there was no possible shelter for others 
concerned in the crime. Mary must be made wholly responsible, 
and 10 obtain that end she must appear to insist on the carrying out 
of the murder and her own abduction ; hence the necessity for the 
other letters. The first tetter, suppressed, but alluded to by Moray 
and Lennox, given as of January r567, was useless ; it disagreed with 

VOL. ccxcvii. NO. 3087. K K 


466 The Gmitemam's Majgmsim^ 

Bowton's confSnsion put in as evidenoe €^kr Ae finding of Ike 
casket ! Though the allasioiis to this letter differ oonadenblf^ tiicf 
have similar points to Letter IL ; one may be a Tcrsioo of die otfao^ 
and re-written to suit the evidence. From pangnphs two to deioi 
in Letter IL there is nothing incriminatipg; it deab endid^ with dis 
reconciliation interview with Damlqry and aoooids widi Gravfixdli 
deposition. Was the whole letter made up from a diaiy letter of 
Blar/s to someone unknown and parts of the sapprened letter? T» 
whom would Mary have written a detailed account of beroonvctatioB 
with her husband, an account teeming with his love and fiutfa in Ui 
wife, lingering over all his endearments^ and yeamipg fior tiie old 
relations as between man and wife ? On the argument diat Mnj 
was a fiend in human form gloating over her victim, wherein hf 
the necessity for such minute details being reported to BothweD? 

Reference is made in this letter to Lord Livingstone^ ac qui e » 
cence in the guilty love for BothwdL He was never questioned ss 
to his knowledge of the same, valuable as the evidenoe would hue 
been, and to the day of his death was one of the Qneen's f ti m nfh f i^ 
supporters and avowers of her innocence. It is arguable that it im 
Livingstone's clear duty to refute the statement unasked. Did he 
know such an anecdote was in existence? The letters were saidto 
have been shown in Edinburgh, December 15, 1567. Some m- 
criminating documents were shown and denounced by the Qoeerii